Faith and Dreams
by Valerie J
Summary: Sequel to Strange Encounter. Dana Scully never really expected to see the mutants again. But when tragedy strikes, Dana finds herself embroiled in an alien conspiracy that threatens not only her world but the Xmen's as well. X Men X Files crossover.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Dana Scully sighed, resigning herself to her fate. Mulder had gone haring off again on some unknown lead, leaving her to deal with the pile of bodies. There were twelve of them, most burned beyond recognition. All of the bodies had been removed from the charred remains of a remote compound in rural Oklahoma. The cult was a small one, and after a cursory inspection by the FBI, appeared to be fairly non-militant. The members were known to the residents of the nearest town, who found them distant and a little creepy, but not particularly threatening. Unfortunately, the townspeople could not give names beyond a few, and even their descriptions were vague. Dana thought the likelihood of identifying all of the bodies was slim, even using a dental records search.

After the first day of full-blown investigation, the FBI had been unable to find an explanation for the fire that had consumed the compound. Nor had they found any evidence to suggest that the cult was connected to the disappearances of four people in the area over the past few months. Mulder believed that the missing people had been abducted by aliens. For proof, he had offered the discovery of crop-circles in nearby fields.

Dana pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, snapping the rubber at the wrist with unnecessary force. Although crop-circles had been discovered on each of the days that the four people were believed to have disappeared, they had also been found on a number of other days and in many other locations that were as much as forty miles from the site of any disappearance. Dana was of the private opinion that crop-circles were a hoax, and she had been surprised by how adamantly Mulder had defended his theory to her, based on such flimsy "evidence".

She turned to the next body. She was down to five. If she hurried, she could probably get them all done today and still go to bed at a reasonable hour. Like the others, this one had been completely immolated by the intense heat of the compound fire. Except for the right arm. She turned on her tape recorder, noted the date and other pertinent information.

"Subject's right arm is nearly undamaged by the fire. He may have been laying on it or had it wrapped in something when he died." This was a nice break, she thought, swinging the magnifier around and leaning down to examine the hand more closely. Then she nodded, satisfied. He still had fingerprints.

#-#-#-#

Dana's heart began to pound at the sound of her cell phone. She reached into her pocket and flipped it open, torn between fear and anger.

"Mulder, where are you?"

"Agent Scully?"

Dana stifled her disappointment and tried to ignore the cold hand gripping her stomach. She recognized A.D. Skinner's voice.

"Yes."

He paused. Then, "Is everything all right?" he asked.

Dana grimaced. "I think so, sir," At least, she hoped so. "I haven't talked to Agent Mulder in almost forty-eight hours. I'm not sure he even knows the compound burned." She hesitated. "I'm beginning to get... concerned."

Skinner was quiet. Dana could imagine his expression. "I haven't heard from him either. Let me know when he checks in." His voice was studiously flat, but she could tell that he was bothered.

"I will."

"What's the status with the investigation?"

Dana adjusted the phone to a more comfortable position on her shoulder as she fumbled with the keys to her hotel room. "Nothing conclusive on the cause of the fire yet," she answered. "I recovered two sets of prints and one partial from the victims. I sent them in late last night. The fax might be on my machine by now. Hold on." She turned the key and stepped into her room. Her laptop lay on the table, surrounded by a tangle of machines and power cords. There was a fax machine, an answering machine, the base for her cell phone, and a radio. Several sheets lay in the fax tray, and she walked over to pick them up.

"Yes, I've got them," she told Skinner, glancing at the top of the first page. She settled on the bed and kicked off her shoes as she scanned the first sheet. As she'd expected, the partial print was unidentifiable. "No ID on the partial print," she relayed to Skinner. She flipped to the next page. "One of bodies is identified as Charles Donner, age 42. He's not one of our missing people, so he might be a cultist." She flipped to the last page and began to skim the contents. As she registered the information, her blood simply froze. The phone slid from her shoulder, bouncing off the bed to land face up on the thinly carpeted floor. Through it, Dana could distantly hear Skinner's voice, calling her name. She didn't respond. She couldn't respond. Her eyes were fixed on the paper held limply in her hands.

Next to the fax-blurred copy of the thumbprint she had placed there only the night before was the name Fox Mulder.

#-#-#-#

"Looks like somebody got here before us." Scott Summers surveyed the wreckage with a practiced eye. Burn marks from laser fire was clearly evident along the intact portions of the aircraft's body. It was a small ship, though of unfamiliar configuration. Not surprising, that, since it had been the Shi'ar who had asked them to intercept the craft as it entered Earth's atmosphere. There was no telling what race it might belong to. And true to form, Lilandra had been closed-mouthed as to the details. It was a tendency of hers that Scott had come to dislike in the extreme, but despite that the X-Men had tracked the ship and followed it here.

"Sure is a mess." Rogue picked up one edge of a piece of skin that had peeled off of the triangular ship, hoisting it off to the side. "Who do ya think might a shot it down?"

"Local military, perhaps?" Joseph lifted a wingtip that had been sheared off, gently levitating it away from the rest of the wreckage.

"J, dis de middle o' Outer Mongolia. You t'ink dey got much in de way o' military out here?" Remy ducked out from under the wing. A sudden gust of wind picked up the powdery snow from around their feet, driving against them. Scott saw him shiver, and wrapped his own jacket more tightly about himself. None of them were dressed for this, though both Rogue and Joseph were protected by their powers. Scott wasn't exactly sure how Joseph managed it, but the cold didn't seem to be affecting him.

"Did you find anything?" Scott asked Remy before Joseph could find a retort. The last thing he wanted was to listen to another round of arguments between those two. Oddly enough, they seemed to have become friends, but they tended to bicker like little old ladies given half an excuse. Scott was both too cold and too annoyed at Lilandra to have any patience for it today.

"Not'ing," Remy answered. "De pilot's got t' be out here someplace. Half de cockpit's ripped off on de other side," he waved that direction, "so dere's no tellin'. He could be buried in de snow ten feet deep."

"Well, let's finish looking around." Scott waded through the snow toward the wing. The impact had cleared some of the snow immediately around the ship, exposing dark gray rock that would at least be a little easier to walk on. "Lilandra never said _why_ she wanted this ship, but it's not going anywhere. I say we go home."

Rogue chuckled. "Ah second that, sugah."

Scott looked around. His conscience wouldn't let him leave until they'd made certain there were no survivors of the crash. But they'd looked over most of the sight. All that was really left was the area around the tail. . . Well, he thought it was the tail, anyway. It was just a big flat diamond-shaped structure that had broken off on impact and lay at an angle in the snow. It certainly wasn't a conventional aircraft tail. He pointed toward it.

"Joseph, let's get that thing moved out of the way."

Joseph nodded and flew over to the tail piece, lifting it in a shimmering blue magnetic bubble.

"Bingo!" Rogue dove toward the exposed tangle of smaller wreckage, landing neatly beside one of the larger pieces. She picked it up without apparent effort and tossed it aside. "Found him!" She knelt beside the prone form.

Scott jogged toward her as best he could. The jagged stone was almost as difficult to traverse as the deep snow. He was only slightly surprised when Remy elected to leap up on top of the downed ship. He walked along the heavily canted surface with the grace of a cat, and leapt off the end, landing next to Rogue. Scott caught up just a moment later. He stared at the man in the snow in surprise. As far as Scott could tell, he was human. He was also dead.

"What in de..." Remy's voice trailed off in bewilderment. Scott turned to him.

"Do you know this man?" he asked.

Remy nodded, his gaze never leaving the upturned face with its empty eyes. "He's wit de FBI. His name is Fox Mulder."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Now let me get this straight." Scott was completely exasperated. What in the world had Lilandra gotten them into? "This Mulder, who happens to be an FBI agent _from another dimension_-- one without significant space travel, I might add-- somehow managed to crash _in a spaceship_ that the Shi'ar are interested in for some unknown reason. Correct?" He split his gaze between Ororo and Remy. They nodded in unison.

"Any ideas on how he might have gotten there?" Scott knew his tone sounded accusing, though it was just a reflection of his frustration. Thankfully, Ororo and Remy seemed to realize this. Neither was particularly defensive as they answered his rapid-fire questions.

"I have a theory." As always, Ororo spoke with calm deliberation. Scott looked at her expectantly.

"From our previous trip to that world, we know that there is a significant interstellar civilization that is interested in that Earth. One of our concerns while we were there was that they would notice us." She motioned to herself and Remy. "Elizabeth said that they have an intense interest in breeding experiments, though she did not know why or what kind, exactly. We were afraid that, if they realized the potential of our mutant genes, they might very well attempt to pursue us back to this dimension." Her gaze was direct and uncompromising.

"And you think they have?" Scott hadn't paid too much attention to that part of Storm's report when they'd brought Rogue back. He hadn't really considered the possibility that these aliens might find their way across the gulf.

"I think it is possible."

Remy frowned. "So why didn' we find any little gray men at de crash site?"

"Little gray men?" Scott asked.

"Dat's what Rogue called dem, an' she's de only one dat met one." He shrugged and grinned. "But she was flyin' pretty high at de time, y'know? Dey could prob'ly look like anyt'ing."

"I do not know why we did not find any of these aliens at the site," Ororo went back to the original question, ignoring Remy. "But I will speculate that they were taken by whoever shot down the ship."

"But not Mulder?" Scott was skeptical. Someone had gone to some trouble to shoot that ship down and then get out again before the X-Men arrived on the scene. Why would they leave a human body behind? To sow confusion perhaps? It was more likely, he thought, that Mulder had been the only occupant of the ship. Of course, that begged a whole new set of questions, like how he'd gotten hold of a spaceship in the first place.

"Maybe we should ask his partner what happened," Ororo suggested. "She may be able to shed some light on how he came to our dimension, at least."

Remy snorted. "She gon' be thrilled t' see us."

Scott considered the two of them. Both had been on this other Earth, and Ororo, at least, was adamant about the danger posed by these unknown aliens. Scott wasn't entirely convinced, but he trusted her opinion and even more, her levelheaded consideration. She would not be so concerned if she did not believe the threat was very real. But for that reason especially, he wanted to keep her here, on their own Earth.

That meant sending Gambit, which didn't entirely thrill him. Not that Remy wasn't capable—he was. He just tended to be a little... flamboyant at what Scott considered to be inappropriate times. Perhaps, if he sent some backup with Remy... He nodded to himself as he made the decision.

"Storm, I want you to stay here." Her eyes widened minusculely in surprise, but she nodded. "I'll send Jean with Remy to talk to this partner."

"Sounds good t' me," Remy agreed. "Telepath come in handy dealin' wit dose people."

Scott stared at Remy. There was something in his voice that was disturbing. Maybe it was just that he sounded completely sincere. The Cajun was universally suspicious of telepaths, which made Scott wonder why he suddenly felt like the mission needed one.

_Jean can take care of herself_, he reminded himself sternly. He was not going to panic over a little bit of strangeness on Gambit's part. "Just get back here as quickly as you can," he told Remy.

#-#-#-#

Dana Scully wandered through her apartment, unconsciously clenching and unclenching her hands at her sides. There were a lot of things she could be working on—her paper for the American Medical Association or the research she was doing for the Cancer Society. Even the New York Times crossword that lay on her kitchen table. She had managed to fill in exactly three clues before the restlessness that filled her brought her to her feet again. She couldn't seem to focus on anything.

Maybe it was just exhaustion. She couldn't sleep at all—not voluntarily. When she laid down, the restlessness built up inside her until she wanted to scream, so she got up, made tea and tried to find something to occupy herself with. Eventually, sleep would claim her, but only for a few fitful hours until the sun came up.

It was worse now that she had no more responsibilities. She had stayed with Mrs. Mulder throughout the visitation and the funeral, trying to be some kind of comfort for the woman who had lost her entire family. But now that it was all over, she just didn't know what to do with herself. Skinner had insisted that she take a few days off, and to some degree she agreed. She wasn't really ready to work. She also knew he needed the time to reassign her, which made her dread returning to the Bureau. The X-files had been such an intrinsic part of her life these past years... _he_ had been such an intrinsic part of her life, that the idea of doing something else was almost unthinkable.

She sank onto the nearest chair, fighting tears. Her purse and its contents lay scattered across the table. Carefully, she picked up her keys, fingering the key chain that Mulder had given her for her birthday. Despite his protestations, she had always believed that the moon landing emblem in a way symbolized his unquenchable desire to know what was out there, just as man's trip to the moon had been the fulfillment of the same kind of dream. That desire defined who he was—it was the passion she saw burning in his eyes and the source of the incredible strength that kept him going despite everything that happened to him.

Her fingers closed tightly around the medallion. Now it was simply a symbol of who Fox Mulder had been. And it was all she had left.

#-#-#-#

_You weren't kidding about the surveillance, were you?_ Jean glanced at Remy, who returned a fleeting smile. There were two teams they'd spotted, both watching the apartment with its single occupant.

_Nope. It was like dis last time, too._

_Why are they so interested in a couple of field agents?_ One of the teams belonged to the FBI. The other was private, though Jean had skimmed enough from the mens' minds to make her think that they were probably funded by the government as well.

Remy shrugged and took another drag on his cigarette. They were standing in an alley that looked out on the back of Scully's apartment, well hidden in the late night shadows. _Somet'ing 'bout dese two make dem nervous. I got de impression last time dat it's because dey have a tendency t' stick dere noses in where de government don' want dem to._

Jean studied the building. Considering where they'd found one half of the pair, that analysis didn't surprise her. _So how are we going to get to her without being seen?_

Remy flashed his famous smile. _We not._

_Oh really?_

Still grinning, he dropped the remains of his cigarette on the ground, grinding it beneath the heel of his boot. _Once it's a decent hour f' a body t' have company, we just walk up t' de door. Woman's got t' have some friends dat might come callin'._

Jean chuckled to herself. And here Scott was always going on about how Remy didn't understand the concept of subtlety.

#-#-#-#

Dana jumped at the knock on her door. She wasn't sure why, except that it was a rare sound and one she wasn't used to. Irritably brushing the hair out of her face, she climbed to her feet and went to answer door.

"Hello, Agent Scully. Been a while, neh?" Dana stared at the man in shock. She recognized him, of course, but she had never really expected to see him again. Her mind scrambled after a name.

"...Remy...Won't you come in?" She stepped back slowly, allowing him to enter. The red-haired woman beside him was unfamiliar, but she gave Dana a friendly smile as she passed.

Dana closed the door and turned to her visitors, mind whirling. "I didn't expect to see you again."

He shrugged, his expression invisible behind dark glasses. "Life's like dat, I guess." Once again, Dana found herself wishing she could see his eyes. Perhaps she would feel a little more trusting then.

"Dis is Jean Summers," Remy went on, indicating the woman with him.

'Nice to meet you," Jean said in a pleasant voice.

Dana studied the woman intently. She seemed fairly non-threatening, though Dana had learned not to trust her feelings on that. Jean returned her stare without apparent concern. She seemed content to wait for Dana to gather her impressions. Her composure was almost unnerving.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Dana returned her attention to Remy. "What do you want?"

His expression became utterly serious. "I'm afraid we brought bad news, chere. Y' partner is dead."

Dana blinked at him, confused. Just hearing the words set off a little twinge in her chest—an echo of the feelings that had engulfed her when she first realized Mulder was gone. But why was he, of all people, telling her this? And why now?

She nodded. "I know. The funeral was two days ago."

He and Jean exchanged puzzled glances. "The funeral?" Jean asked after a moment.

Dana stared at them, her apprehension growing. "Yes. Is something wrong?"

"But, how did y' know he was dead?"

Dana was beginning to feel like they weren't quite on the same wavelength. And it wasn't a topic she wanted to dwell on. "I ID'd the body," she told him stiffly.

Remy and Jean looked at each other again, almost as if they could communicate with the glance. Eventually Remy turned back to her.

"Maybe we should go someplace an' talk."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Dana fiddled with her napkin while she looked back and forth between the man and woman who sat across from her. The little bistro they had gone to was incredibly loud—surprisingly so. She would not have guessed it from the outside. But it made her feel like they could really have a private conversation. Remy and Jean had gone to a fair amount of trouble to seem like nothing more than old friends of hers, and Dana wanted very much to ask who the act was for. She had gotten used to the idea that people were probably watching her, but most of the time she could ignore it. These two brought that paranoid feeling back full force.

"Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Jean and Remy exchanged glances as if trying to decide who would answer. Finally, Remy shrugged. "It would help if y'd tell us what happened t' y' partner."

Dana chewed on her lip for a moment. There was little she could tell him that wasn't still classified under the auspices of an open FBI investigation, but maybe a little would be enough. "He died in a fire. We still don't know how he got there, or what caused it..." She trailed off as the two across from her stared at each other. Dana would have sworn they were arguing, except that neither one said a word. Her own comments to Mulder about the strange woman Elizabeth floated through her mind, and she tried to refuse the conclusion she was drawn toward. Telepathy was completely unproven. But she had to admit that they certainly looked like they were talking to each other.

"Ahem."

Both gazes snapped to her, and Dana chalked up another piece of highly circumstantial evidence. It seemed like they'd gotten so engrossed in their silent argument that they'd forgotten about her. "Do you mind?"

Jean had the grace to blush slightly. "Sorry." Then her expression became solemn. "Are you sure it was your partner that you buried?"

Dana's gut twisted. "Yes." She wanted to get angry. Not only because thinking about Mulder hurt, but because the question tried to raise hope that Dana knew was useless.

Jean seemed to recognize her emotions. She spoke very gently. "This is obviously painful, and I'm sorry to ask, but how did you verify that it was him?"

Dana looked down at her hands. "The original identification was through a fingerprint. Later, I ordered a dental print and comparison. Both were positive."

"Well, dat sure leaves us wit' a mystery, den." Remy wore a troubled frown.

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Up until a couple o' minutes ago, I would've sworn t' y' dat Mulder was lyin' dead in our basement."

#-#-#-#

Jean watched as Agent Scully's expression went from shocked to disbelieving, and then disappeared entirely.

Finally, "What do you mean?" she asked. Jean admired her self-control, which was far more than skin deep. She was holding her thoughts and emotions in check as well as her face.

Jean glanced at Remy. "He means that we have a dead man in our medlab. Both Remy and Ororo were convinced that he was your partner. Now, we aren't certain what to think."

Scully looked back and forth between them. "I'd like to see this man."

Jean tried to keep her feelings off her face. She'd been expecting that, and still wasn't certain how to answer.

_Y' can trust her, if dat's what y' wonderin'._ She and Remy were linked telepathically, as they had been since arriving in this world, but still she was surprised. Remy was awfully perceptive some times of thoughts she was not projecting.

_We aren't supposed to reveal ourselves, remember? We have no idea what methods are available here to extract information from her mind._

_So, erase everyt'ing once we gone._

_I can't do that without her permission, Remy._

_Ask her den._

Jean hid her frustration. _I have to reveal that I'm a telepath to do that. If she refuses, I can't erase that knowledge._

Remy gave her a look of pure disgust, but before he could reply, Scully cleared her throat. "If you're going to talk about me, I'd prefer you did it out loud where I can hear you."

Remy chuckled. _Dat solves dat problem, neh?_

"T'ought y' might have figured us out," he said out loud.

Scully stared at him, as if she wasn't quite certain what to make of his glib confirmation. Jean got the impression from her that she didn't want to believe what she was hearing. But, since the damage was mostly done already, she didn't see any reason to delay the inevitable.

_Agent Scully._

As Jean expected, the woman jumped in surprise at the voice in her head. She stared at Jean, wide-eyed.

_Yes, I'm speaking to you telepathically._

"How... ?" Scully bit off the rest of the question, pressing her lips firmly together. _Can you hear me?_ she asked tentatively after a moment.

Jean nodded, oddly pleased. _Clearly. And, since I have Remy linked in right now, he can hear you as well._

Scully's gaze jumped to the Cajun briefly, then returned to Jean. She let out her breath in a sigh and nodded her acceptance. "All right. What now?"

#-#-#-#

Dana gripped the steering wheel tightly as she drove and tried not to think of anything at all. The red-haired woman who sat beside her stared out the window, apparently oblivious, but Dana knew better. That woman had spoken directly into her mind, as easily as if she'd said the words aloud. She'd read Dana's thoughts as well, which was the scary part. Dana couldn't help but wonder if Jean had seen everything about her, had read even her deepest secrets. Those things that she most wanted to hide immediately popped to the front of her mind when she considered what she did not want the telepath to see.

She glanced in the rear-view mirror. Remy was sprawled across the back seat of her sedan, apparently asleep. Jean noticed the direction of her gaze and glanced back as well. Then she turned to Dana with a smile.

"You'll have to excuse Remy. He tends to catnap anytime you can get him to sit still for more than ten minutes."

Dana nodded, turned her attention back to the road. What could she say? Jean could read every response straight out of her head. Except that the woman was watching her with a puzzled frown, as if she didn't quite know how to interpret Dana's silence.

Dana flexed her fingers on the wheel, debating with herself. But eventually she couldn't help but blurt out the question that kept spinning in her mind.

"Are you... reading my mind?"

Jean cocked her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. "No, I'm not. It would be unethical of me to read your thoughts without your permission."

Dana shot her a surprised look, and Jean grinned. "Honest." She held up a hand. "Besides, I would go completely insane if I walked around reading everyone's thoughts all the time."

Dana found herself relaxing. For whatever reason, she believed Jean. Then she smiled at herself. Since she'd already accepted that she was sitting in the car with a woman who could literally read minds, why balk at believing that the same woman would do things simply because they were right?

"How much further?" Jean asked, her green eyes scanning the fields that surrounded the road for miles.

Dana glanced at the odometer. "Twenty miles or so. The compound site is still restricted, but I called in a favor." She fished in her jacket pocket and pulled out two temporary badges, which she handed to Jean. Jean looked them over critically, then nodded in approval.

They pulled up in front of the burned remains of the Iowa compound, and Dana felt a chill scrabbling up her back. There was a part of her that hated this place for what it had taken from her. But Jean and Remy had asked to see it. They were very interested in trying to piece together Mulder's actions during the forty-eight hours before his death. What Dana had told the FBI, she had also told them, but she was aware that it would be of little use.

To Dana's relief, the site appeared to be unattended, save for the guard. Remy and Jean looked over the charred remains, talking quietly.

"Hot fire," Remy commented as she came up beside them.

Dana glanced up at him. He was still looking out at the compound, shading his eyes from the midday sun despite the dark sunglasses.

"Yes," she answered. "Almost 8,000 degrees. The steel infrastructure was melted, and some of the cement. You can see the fused areas there." She pointed as she spoke.

"Dey know what caused it t' burn so hot?"

Dana pursed her lips. "Not yet. We know it was a chemical fire, but the technicians were having trouble identifying the compound."

Jean cocked her head. "Where were the bodies found?"

"There." Dana forcibly controlled her reaction. One of those bodies had been Mulder.

"Out near de edge, neh?" Remy crossed his arms, rocking lightly on the heels of his boots. "De heat not quite so bad dere."

Dana nodded. "The investigators surmise that most, if not all, of the cult members were somewhere inside the structure when it burned. But, since the fire was so hot, there aren't any remains with which to verify that assumption."

"So, jus' a little evidence, but not too much, eh, chere?" Remy looked down at her, and Dana found herself wishing once again that she could see his eyes. His expressions were unfathomable through those glasses.

"What are you saying?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Ain' sayin' not'ing. But, y' got t' admit it's a good way t' cover y' tracks. Great big mess like dis, a few bodies sprinkled around... folks look f' de simplest answer t' fit de facts, so if y' don' leave too many facts lying around, dey c'n come up wit' an explanation pretty easy. Nobody ever look hard enough to see de real picture."

Dana blinked at him. "You're as paranoid as Mulder."

He grinned impishly, but didn't reply.

"Why don't we get a little closer," Jean suggested. "I'd like to see if I can pick up any astral traces."

"Astral traces?" Dana asked doubtfully as she followed the pair towards the blackened remains. Neither one answered her. They were immediately engrossed in their survey of the ruined compound buildings. Dana watched them with interest. Remy was walking around the perimeters of the various foundations, pausing occasionally to study the ruin. He seemed to be working out the dimensions of the buildings from what was left. Why, exactly, Dana wasn't sure. She'd shown them photographs of the compound taken before it burned. Jean, on the other hand, appeared to be doing absolutely nothing. She stood motionless near the center of the burned area where the heat had been most intense, her eyes closed.

Dana wandered over to where Remy was. He had dropped to a crouch and was studying an area of slagged metal with particular curiosity.

"Find something?" she asked.

He nodded. "Take a look." As she watched, he used his hands to dig away some of the dirt that surrounded the deformed chunk of metal at its base. Dana was fairly certain that the metal had been a support beam. Its shape seemed to suggest a tall beam that had bucked and then melted. But as Remy brushed away more of the dirt around the base, she could see that the beam had been attached to an extensive metal structure buried undergound. The heat of the fire had actually helped to expose it by incinerating some of the covering dirt. Curious, Dana knelt beside him to help dig. Together, they exposed more of the buried structure. Enough to discover the curved sides of a mammoth cylinder lying on its side. Remy rapped it gently with his knuckles, generating only a dull thunking noise.

Dana sat back and brushed the hair out of her face with the back of one dirt-covered hand. "That's too solid to be pipe."

"Yep. I'm guessin' it's an actuator."

Dana tried to contain her disbelief. After all, the diesel engines used to power destroyers before the advent of nuclear powerplants had pistons of similar dimensions. But an actuator of this size, underground-- it would be able to exert enough force to lift half the hillside...

She stood up, surveying the ruin with a new perspective. It didn't take her long to pick out the subtle pattern of building supports, like the one they were standing beside, the outlined a giant rectangle in the ground. There were two doors, she realized as she started across the ruin at a trot. And they came together right about... there. Her feet carried her to the spot, where she knelt down and began to dig.

"This is where the doors meet," she told Remy over her shoulder. She felt kind of frantic as she dug with her bare hands into the hardened earth. If there was an answer to the senselessness of Mulder's death, she would find it here.

The shadow of someone standing over her made her pause and look up. Remy had come up beside her, but he was looking across the ruin toward Jean. Dana guessed that there was another telepathic conference going on. After a moment, Jean relaxed her stiff posture and opened her eyes. She approached them, her gaze sweeping the area. Dana could see her picking out the outline of the doors just as she had.

Remy gave Jean a doubtful look. "Y' t'ink y' c'n lift one o' dese?" he asked her. His booted foot tapped the apparent edge of one of the door halves.

Dana looked at them in surprise. Move one of the doors? It had to weigh several tons, particularly with the earth that covered it. They would need a crane to pry something that big up.

To her relief, Jean shook her head. But her words were less comforting. "No, but I can move the actuator slides." Jean nodded toward the area where the actuator was buried. "There doesn't appear to be any damage."

Dana found herself holding her breath as Remy motioned her away from the doors. They left Jean standing just in front of the joining of the massive plates and took up a position several paces behind her. Dana wasn't entirely certain she wanted to see what would happen next. She had an inkling, and a little voice inside whispered that this might be more than she wanted to witness. More than she wanted to believe was possible. And more proof than she was ready to swallow.

Slowly, Jean raised her arms away from her body, her posture indicating intense concentration. Dana gasped as the ground quivered, and then the huge doors began to swing skyward. The remains of the buildings and even the ground remained attached as the pieces of metal swung wide. The doors opened to just a little beyond ninety degrees and then came to a halt with a short grinding noise.

Jean lowered her arms and turned around. Remy cocked his head, regarding her. "I sure hope y' remembered de guard over dere."

Dana darted a glance over her shoulder toward the guard's station. She did not see him.

"He's unconscious," Jean told her when she looked back

Dana wanted to ask her how, but she was too enthralled by the gaping hole in the ground just beyond Jean's feet. For now she would accept that the guard was unconscious, as Jean claimed, and that she had done it to him with some kind of telepathy that Dana held little hope of explaining. She wanted to know what was under the ground.

With more than a little trepidation, Dana walked to the edge of the chasm and looked down. She wasn't certain whether to be disappointed or not by the fact that the huge space beneath the doors appeared to be empty. The Midwest sun shone down on a metal floor some sixty feet below her feet, but did not illuminate anything else. The edges of the underground space were lost in darkness, and Dana had the impression of an immense man-made cavern.

She gasped as Remy leapt off the edge of the chasm, but Jean only chuckled.

"Showoff. He's going to wreck his knees if he keeps doing that."

Dana looked down as Remy landed on the metal floor with a boom that echoed around the cavern. He straightened immediately, showing no signs of pain. A moment later, he lit something that glowed a lurid pink and held it up. The circle of light began to move as he walked toward one side of the room.

"Shall we?" Jean asked.

Dana stared at her. "You're not expecting me to jump?"

Jean smiled. "Of course not." She raised her arms and Dana tensed instinctively. "Just relax. This will feel a little strange at first."

"What--?" But then the world seemed to drop out from under her. Dana's stomach jumped into her throat and she felt a moment of pure panic as she realized that the ground was, indeed, falling away beneath her feet. Instinctively, she tried to grab onto some kind of support and felt Jean's hand on her arm. She forced herself to be still, standing rigid in the grip of whatever force was lifting her.

"You're fine." Jean's tone was reassuring. Dana looked around in amazement. They were flying! Or rather, floating. Gently, as if buoyed by some strange kind of air cushion.

"How are you doing this?" she demanded of Jean.

The woman gave her a rather sympathetic smile. "I'm also a telekinetic," she said, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. Dana could find no suitable response, considering her position.

Together she and Jean floated out over the chasm and slowly descended. Dana felt her feet touch down on the metal floor and the strange sensation of having her weight once more deposited on them.

Remy was off to her left, the pink glowing object held close to the ground as he knelt to examine something. Dana shook off her astonishment and went to see what he had found. Remy stood as she approached, offering her the object. It was a gun. Dana took it from him and studied it, frowning. It was the right model and caliber. And Mulder's weapon had not been recovered. She checked the safety and then slid the gun into her suit pocket.

Dana shook her head, frustrated. "Do you know what this place is?" she asked Remy.

He shrugged. "If I had t' guess, I'd say it was a hangar."

Jean cocked her head to look up at him. "That would explain where he got the ship, at least."

"Where who got what ship?" Dana looked between them.

Jean turned to her. "The man we thought was Mulder was killed in a... plane crash. The ship would have fit into this hangar pretty nicely."

Dana took another look around the cavern, concluding that it did indeed look like a hangar. She didn't get a chance to form any other thoughts as Remy's head snapped up, followed by Jean's.

"Trouble," he said tersely. The light in his hand went out abruptly, plunging them into semi-darkness.

Dana looked up at the pounding of feet approaching the edge of the hole above them. A ring of soldiers formed around the edge, their automatic weapons pointing down into the cavern. Dana suppressed a sigh. Even dead, Mulder was still getting her into trouble.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Scott opened the door to Professor Xavier's office and was mostly unsurprised to find Lilandra standing beside the Professor's hoverchair, her hand resting possessively on his shoulder. The Shi'ar Empress was dressed in her normal battle regalia, a form-fitting metallic suit that was far tougher than it looked. She nodded to Scott as he crossed the room, the light from the desk lamp running across her armor like quicksilver at the sharp motion. Scott's stomach tightened. This wasn't a hologram. And if whatever was going on was important enough to bring Lilandra halfway across the galaxy in person, it was at least as serious as Scott feared.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

The Professor nodded, and Scott chided himself silently. After so many years, he ought to be comfortable calling the man by his first name.

"Have you heard anything from Jean or Remy?" the Professor asked.

Scott shook his head. "Not yet. But they expected to need at least this long to make contact without arousing suspicion."

The Professor nodded and looked up at Lilandra, who frowned. "Hopefully, they are still safe, then."

The tightness in Scott's stomach turned into alarm. "What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath and stepped away from the Professor's chair. "These 'gray men', as you have dubbed them, are a far greater threat than you realize. We had hoped to deal with them without gaining the notice of anyone on Earth, but that goal is already compromised. Their influence among Earth's governmental agencies is stronger than we suspected."

Scott digested that in silence. He didn't like the sound of it at all. Earth's governments were, by and large, unaware of the vast stellar empires that spanned much of the galaxy around them. And though people were generally aware that alien races existed, they seemed content to believe that those races mostly stuck to their own territories and left the Earth alone. Usually, Scott had to admit, that was true. The Shi'ar Imperium was quite strict in its hands-off policy toward Earth, and there were few races that did not follow its lead.

Now, apparently, there was a race that had chosen to buck Shi'ar authority. If he understood correctly, the 'gray men' weren't from this dimension, and so might have no knowledge of the Shi'ar or their policies. But from Lilandra's tone, it was obvious that the two races had crossed paths, and that Lilandra's confidence in her Imperium's ability to defeat this new enemy was not entirely complete.

The question that had been bothering him all along returned, and he focused on Lilandra. "Why did you send us after that ship that crashed in Mongolia?"

Her eyebrows twitched, as if he'd surprised her with the direction of his thoughts. But then she shifted her stance to something resembling a parade rest, and Scott realized that she was settling in for a fairly long explanation. He moved to the leather-bound chair that faced the Professor's desk, turned it so that he could see the Shi'ar woman, and then sat down. He spent too much time on his feet as it was, and it would be nice to rest while he had the opportunity.

Lilandra waited for him to get comfortable, then began. "The ship you followed belongs to the Racth'zai—the 'gray men'. It came through one of their gates, causing enough confusion among the nearby cruisers that we thought it worthy of interest. Since you claim there was a human piloting the ship, their reaction is understandable."

"Did it come from the dimension where Jean and Remy are now?"

Lilandra nodded. "Most likely." She looked at the Professor for a moment, then returned her attention to Scott. "The Racth'zai are parasites. Not physically, but as a culture. Every intelligent species they encounter, they seek to genetically mix with their own until they have produced what they consider to be a superior being—an improvement to their race. They use cloning to provide them with stable gene sources, and when they have hybridized the next generation of their species, they wipe out the indigent race and take the planet for their new generation."

Lilandra paused, her hands flexing on the staff of her office. "Eleven centuries ago, they tried to take Chandilar." Her voice was low, and Scott sensed that it was an unpleasant portion of her Empire's history. "We were barely a spacefaring race then. Somewhat more advanced than Earth is now, but not much. If we had known we were being invaded, perhaps we would have been able to fight them. Their technology is not very advanced because they take it from others instead of inventing for themselves." She sighed. "But we did not know we were being invaded. They are insidious creatures, working only in the shadows. They contacted the leaders of our governments—only a few—those who could be bought with their promises of power and technology. Over the course of decades they gained a foothold on our planet. They cloned our people and created their hybrids. They hid themselves in a modern folklore of an alien species whose existence could not be proven."

Her brows dipped in a pained expression. "They very nearly took our planet, before anyone knew that it was happening. Once we realized the threat, we were able to drive them away from Chandilar, but the damage had already been done. In the end, we were forced to destroy nearly half of the population to eradicate their genetic influence."

Scott sat up abruptly. "Wait a minute. You wiped out half of your own people just because they had mixed genes? That's genocide!"

Lilandra shook her head. "The Racth'zai have a communal mind. If they are part Racth'zai, then they are Racth'zai. Much like the Phalanx." Her gaze was sad but uncompromising. "We had no choice."

Scott thought it over. In the battle against the Phalanx, there had been no other option but to destroy those who had once been human. If that was indeed the case with these Racth'zai, then he could hardly hold the Shi'ar at fault. But that led him to the disturbing question of what was going to happen to Earth.

"And now these things are after us?" he asked Lilandra.

She nodded. "Yes, though the situation is more complex. The Racth'zai of this dimension were eradicated almost three hundred years ago."

Pieces of information clicked together in Scott's mind, and he felt a growing sense of horror. "But when the X-Men rescued Rogue in this other dimension, _their_ Racth'zai became aware of us."

"And they found a way to cross over. Yes." Professor Xavier's expression was grim.

#-#-#-#

The first sign Remy LeBeau had that he was no longer unconscious was a sensation of warmth along his side. Ribs, he decided after a few moments of focusing on the sensation. Had to be ribs. The warmth grew as he thought about it, quickly becoming uncomfortable, then excruciating. It was about then that he realized that it wasn't heat he was feeling, but pain.

_Wonnerful._

He tried to think back, to part the heavy black cotton that enfolded him, and remember what had happened that might have given him a set of broken ribs. But pushing against the blackness only brought the pain into sharper relief, and his conviction wavered.

_Wakin' up gon' hurt._

_A lot. _

_You really wan' wake up, Remy?_

A flash of memory threw everything into stark relief for just a moment. He remembered walking down a barren hall, the weight of manacles tearing the skin of his wrists. A soldier shoved him from behind with the butt of his rifle.

Then the memory was gone, and Remy was returned to darkness. _When did it happen?_ he wondered. They could have been events from any time in the last eight years, the hallway and the soldier. He couldn't attach anything to them.

Both reluctant and relieved, he sank back into the gentle dark. He had the feeling that there was something important he should be remembering, but for the moment, it was lost to him. As he pondered, his awareness began to grow, spreading outward from the pain in his ribs. He discovered that his shoulders ached fiercely, but it was a muscular protest rather than an injury, he thought. He pushed his awareness out along his arms until he was fairly certain he could feel his fingers. He tried to wiggle them, and was rewarded by the touch of something chill beneath his fingertips. Metal, maybe?

"He's coming to." The voice echoed in the darkness, the words meaningless. Then a sharp stab of pain rocked him and flooded the dark place with sensation. Remy slammed into his body, fully and suddenly aware of his surroundings and of the many hurts that filled him. He opened his eyes to find himself staring into a gnarled face and a pair of eyes the color of death. Cigarette smoke swirled between them on an invisible breeze, and Remy sniffed it hungrily. It had obviously been a long time since he'd had a cigarette. His body knew, even if his mind had no idea how much time had passed.

"We meet again," the man said with a caustic smile and a tiny wave of his cigarette.

Remy ignored him as he tried to absorb his situation. He was chained at the wrists and hanging from a hook mounted in the wooden crossbeam of what looked like a basement ceiling. The walls and floor were cement, undecorated and interrupted at even intervals by a seam where the pre-poured slabs had been joined. A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling just behind Cancer Man's head. Its glare hid the face of a second man who stood toward the back of the room. Remy's spatial sense told him that the mystery man was the only other person in the room, and he hid his elation. His powers still worked. The bite of the metal cuffs that dug into the raw flesh of his wrists was suddenly a welcome sensation. Metals charged up real well.

"How are you feeling?" the Cancer Man asked as he took a drag on his cigarette. Remy had the sudden urge to kick him. These people knew their business. They'd done a very thorough job of taking the fight out of him while he was unconscious. His entire body hurt, to the point that he could not discern where one pain left off and another one began. It was making him lightheaded, and he had the bad feeling that walking might be beyond him at this point. That was the only thing that kept him from disintegrating the chains that held him.

_Dese two obviously wan' talk. Gives me time t' rest. Plan a next move._ But that didn't silence the tiny voice of panic in his mind that whispered that if he didn't get out of there _now_, the two evil men would torture him and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. He knew he wasn't helpless, not with his powers active, but that knowledge was in his mind, not in his heart.

Cancer Man didn't seem offended that Remy hadn't answered his question. He retained his smirk as he paced back and forth in front of his prisoner. Remy watched him warily.

"What is your name?" Cancer Man's voice was inflectionless, making it seem as dead as his eyes.

Remy ignored the question. _Y' never answer de first question._ He doubted that Cancer Man cared, anyway.

Cancer Man turned and slapped him, surprisingly hard. Remy tasted blood and for a moment his vision whited out.

"Tell me your name."

Remy blinked, focusing on the source of the voice. _So dat's how y' gon' play it, non? Not gon' try t' entice me wit promises. Jus' answers or pain._ He took quick stock of his physical condition. _I'm not gon' be able t' take too much o' dis an' still get out o' here._ A tiny whisper in the back of his mind said he might not be able to get out as it was.

"Gambit," he said.

Cancer Man's eyebrow flickered speculatively, but he didn't seem inclined to argue the point.

"Very well, Mr. Gambit." He took a drag on his cigarette. "Do you know why you're here?"

"'Cause some sadistic jerk wants payback?"

Cancer Man hit him again. Remy rocked with the blow, wondering why it was that he never seemed to be able to keep his mouth shut. Still, he felt some satisfaction that his barb had struck so deeply. He'd obviously embarrassed Cancer Man thoroughly that night in the parking garage. He looked up at the other and was immensely gratified to see the flush of anger in his cheeks.

"What were you doing at the Seeker's compound?" There was a strident edge to the voice now.

_Press y' advantage, boy._ "Tresspassing?"

He saw the Cancer Man's temper snap. Cancer Man grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close until their faces were only inches apart. "Tell me where the ship is!" he hissed.

Still hidden in the shadows, the mystery man cleared his throat and Cancer Man stiffened. His face became an emotionless mask as he released Remy and stepped back. Remy watched the transformation with interest. From some things Psylocke had said during their last encounter, he understood that this man was one of the very few who really knew the truth behind these gray men. But Cancer Man obviously hadn't known about the ship berthed in that hanger, and now it seemed he was frightened by the possibilities of what other things he might not know.

Remy was momentarily distracted as his powers tracked two people coming down the stairs outside of his cell. They stopped just outside the door to the room.

"Where is the ship?" Remy's attention snapped back to Cancer Man. He seemed to have gained control of his emotions, and his voice was once again lifeless.

Remy quickly reviewed his options. It was hard to think through the haze of pain, but he was clear enough to realize that he had been given an opportunity to sow confusion. _Perfect f' a con man like me._

"It... crashed." He almost couldn't force his mouth to form the words, though the thought seemed clear in his head. A blast of panic swirled through him. He was a lot worse off than he thought.

"Where did it crash?" The lifeless veneer fell away again. The Cancer Man was intensely interested.

Remy stared at him. _Where did it crash? Where did what crash?_ For a moment, he couldn't remember. Everything around him was becoming unreal, taking on a flat, two-dimensional quality that distorted his sense of orientation and distance. But finally he remembered the answer to the question, though he was no longer sure why it was important.

"Mongolia." It came out as a whisper.

He never saw the Cancer Man's reaction, nor would he have cared if he did. The door to the room flew open and two people rushed inside. One held an automatic rifle with the confidence of a professional. The other was unarmed. She had one hand to her temple and the other one stretched out in front of her. Remy recognized them, but for the moment could not find names to attach to them.

As they came into the room, the mystery man jerked and collapsed. Cancer Man whirled, pausing when he saw the weapon trained on him.

"Hey!" The unarmed woman sounded surprised. But then she put her other hand to her temple and narrowed her eyes in concentration. Cancer Man sagged under her assault, and fell to the floor. Each motion had a jerkiness to it that reminded Remy of silent films, as if his eyes were only interpreting things in short bursts.

Both women approached him. The taller one, with the heavy mane of red hair, stared at him with an expression of deep concern. Remy couldn't find his voice to tell her not to worry, that he was fine. But as darkness closed in on him, he did finally find her name.

"Jean..."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dana woke with a pounding headache. She groaned as she raised her head, and then immediately fell to a fit of coughing that sent stabs of pain through her lungs. After a moment, she gained control of the spasms. She sat still for several long minutes and concentrated on breathing.

The last thing she remembered was the three gas grenades that the soldiers had thrown into the hanger with herself and her odd acquaintances. As if in slow motion, she had watched the metal cylinders hit the ground and bounce, clattering haphazardly across the floor. Oddly enough, Remy had stopped one with his foot, and as the whitish smoke began to pour from vents along its length, he and Jean had stared at each other in another of those silent conversations. Dana would probably never know if it had involved words, or simply the eloquent body language of people who knew each other well, but she had watched as they decided whether to submit to the gas or to fight. Now, with the painful itch of the chemical burn in her lungs, she almost wished they'd decided to fight.

Dana opened her eyes slowly. She was lying on the floor of a metal cage in the middle of what seemed otherwise to be a normal living room. She turned her head slightly, studying the cage. From the height and the spacing of the bars, it looked as though it might have been designed for a lion, or perhaps a small bear. Thankfully, it didn't appear to have been inhabited by either—at least, not recently. The floor and bars were clean enough to shine.

She turned further and spied another prone form on the floor beside her. Jean. She appeared to be unconscious, and Dana could see the steady rise and fall of her ribs. There was no sign of Remy. Dana sat up slowly and scanned the room. She was still a bit dizzy from the gas, but as she looked around, she saw nothing but the tasteful decor. A single window gave her a glimpse of the outside, but she could see little through the branches of a willow tree that apparently shaded this portion of the house. An empty fireplace took up the far wall, with a cluster of small couches arranged nearby. It appeared that the furniture had been hastily rearranged to make room for the cage, and Dana found herself wondering whose house she was in.

Turning her attention back to her immediate surroundings, Dana slid over to Jean. A cursory check confirmed that the other woman was both healthy and unconscious. Dana sighed and moved to put her back against the bars. Eventually, she was sure, someone would come to check on them. She was very curious who that someone might be.

#-#-#-#

"Spit it out, Hank." As the hours passed with no sign of either Jean or Remy, Scott became more and more concerned. The information Lilandra had brought them had left him chilled by the knowledge that even their own government was involved in this insidious invasion of Earth, and from his expression, it now appeared that Hank had brought him some more bad news.

Hank dropped into the nearest chair with a soft whuff that spoke volumes about the long hours he'd been keeping in his lab. "He's not human," he said without preamble, gesturing toward the lab that resided beneath their feet.

Scott blinked in surprise, grateful that his visor hid so much of his expression. "Agent Mulder?"

Hank nodded. "In a manner of speaking."

Scott reminded himself forcibly that this was just Hank, and he shouldn't get annoyed. "English, Hank. Agent Mulder isn't human?"

Hank grinned, his weary expression evaporating. "Correct. He isn't Agent Mulder, either."

Scott paused. Hank had a knack for setting people up so that anything that came out of their mouths would sound incredibly stupid. He considered his options, eventually settling on, "Then who is he?" as the most intelligent question he could ask.

Hank's grin remained in place. "The operative question, O Fearless One, is 'What is he?'." He pulled off his spectacles and began examining the lenses. "And the answer is— drum roll, please-- a SHIELD decoy."

"_SHIELD?_" Scott was dumbfounded. This was a curve he hadn't anticipated. "You're certain?"

Hank threw him a briefly annoyed look. "I triple-checked."

Scott stared at him, thinking furiously. "Is there a version of SHIELD in this other dimension?" he finally asked the curious scientist.

"I don't think so, no." Hank returned his glasses to their usual perch on his nose.

Scott stood up and began to pace. "So, what we have here is no longer an FBI agent from another dimension who killed himself by crashing a stolen spaceship into a mountain range in Russia somewhere." He pivoted smartly and looked at Hank. "We now have a SHIELD decoy _copy_ of an FBI agent from another dimension who may or may not have killed himself by crashing a stolen spaceship into a mountain range in Russia. Correct?"

Hank chuckled appreciatively at his sarcasm. "Something like that."

#-#-#-#

Dana jumped at the sound of the doorknob being turned. She had been dozing with her forehead on her drawn up knees, but now she looked up, unconsciously smoothing her hair and tucking it behind her ears. She was almost unsurprised to see the Cancer Man walk in. A Marine guard held the door for him as he entered, which was a useful piece of information. Until then, Dana had had no idea whether the door was guarded or not.

She stood as he approached, making little effort to disguise her hatred. There was a very good chance that this man had ordered the assassination attempt that had killed Dana's sister, and she held a vague suspicion that he might yet turn out to have some connection to Mulder's death as well.

"Why am I being held here?" she demanded as soon as he reached the bars.

Cancer Man studied her in his irritatingly casual manner. Dana always had the feeling he was trying to decide if she was worth the cost of the bullet it would take to silence her. "You were trespassing in a restricted installation, Agent Scully."

Dana tried to hold on to her temper. "I was investigating a Federal crime scene."

He waved her statement away. "A matter of semantics."

Dana knew better than to rise to his bait, so she simply watched him and waited. After a moment, he smiled as if he could see her thought process. Dana hated that smug little smile and the superior attitude behind it. Someday, she sincerely hoped, she would be there to see that expression irrevocably wiped off his face.

Cancer Man studied her a moment longer, and then nodded toward the prone figure at Dana's feet. "Tell me about your friend."

Dana resisted the urge to glance down. "What do you want to know?" she countered.

"Let's start with her name." Cancer Man fished a cigarette out of his coat pocket, followed by a book of matches. The smell of carcinogens assaulted Dana's nose.

"Jean Summers." Hopefully that was an alias, she thought. Though knowing names hadn't seemed to help the government the last time they'd tangled with these people.

Cancer Man nodded. "What else do you know about her?"

"Nothing."

The gray eyebrows arched as he blew smoke. "Surely, Agent Scully, you must know _something_."

She pursed her lips. "I don't. Where's Remy?"

"Who?" Cancer Man asked with patently false curiosity.

"The man who was with us at the compound." Desperately she wished Mulder were there. He had always been so much better than her at these conversations. He could play on the hints and insinuations, dishing out the double entendres with glee. She never seemed to be able to do anything except lose her temper. Mulder was always telling her that it was because she took it all too seriously, but she simply didn't know how to _not_ be serious with a man who had the power to ruin her life. And perhaps already had. More and more, she believed that the cancer in her head had been caused by human agents, not extraterrestrial.

Cancer Man cocked his head. "This cage seemed a bit small for three people, so we moved your other friend to more... suitable accommodations."

"Then I'd like to see him."

"I don't think so." Cancer Man dropped his cigarette butt on the carpet, grinding it beneath his shoe. It left a small burn mark, Dana noticed. "We'll talk again later, Agent Scully." He turned to leave.

A few steps from the door, he paused and turned. "My condolences on the death of your partner."

Dana could only stare at him. He almost sounded sincere.

#-#-#-#

Jean woke with a hazy pain in her lungs and a vague feeling that something was wrong. "Scott...?" She opened her eyes as memory began to return. "Remy...?"

"He's not here." A hand gripped her shoulder and Jean recognized the FBI agent's voice.

Suppressing a groan, she rolled over. Dana was leaning over her, her expression one of professional concern. "How do you feel?"

Jean summoned a feeble grin. "Rotten."

"The dizziness and nausea should pass. Do you think you can sit up?"

Jean accepted the other woman's help as she pulled herself into a seated position. Then she cradled her head in her hands, rubbing her temples. As promised, she began to feel better almost immediately. Her head began to clear as well, and she finally looked up, surveying the immediate surroundings. Cautiously, she made a telepathic scan. There were perhaps twenty people in the building, most of them soldiers. She didn't find Remy anywhere among them.

"Where's Remy?" Not knowing where he was or what had happened to him made her exceedingly nervous. In part because they had a mutual responsibility to each other to make sure they both made it back from this place, but more than that, Remy was the only familiar reference she had here. She would feel much more secure if she could catch a glimpse of that aggravatingly cocky smile.

Dana looked uncomfortable at the question. "Cancer Man said they moved him to another place."

Jean quirked an eyebrow. That nickname still tickled her. However, the business at hand was serious. "Do you know where?"

Dana shook her head.

Jean sighed and looked around. She noted the cage—its construction and simple but heavy lock, and the room with its single camera mounted in the corner near the ceiling. There was only one guard outside the door, but his thoughts were mostly about the dancer he'd met the night before, and not about his charges. Beyond him she sensed several other guards, including two at some kind of entry gate. They seemed like normal soldiers—competent but not expert. All in all, a pretty simple job to break out. She was loathe to leave just yet, though. If she had been unconscious this long, there was a fair chance that Remy might still be out as well, and she couldn't sense an unconscious mind.

"So what now?" Dana asked her. She had settled on the opposite side of the cage so that they faced each other across the short distance.

Jean shrugged for the benefit of the camera. "I don't know. We wait, I guess." Then she added, _I can't sense Remy. I want to wait for a while to see if he might be in the house but still unconscious._

Dana's eyes narrowed as she forcibly suppressed her reaction. Jean had the feeling that she was never going to be comfortable with telepaths.

_Why don't you just read Cancer Man's mind? He knows where they took him._

_I'd rather not risk it unless I have to._ The chances that Cancer Man was being observed by these mysterious 'gray men' was high, in her opinion, and Psylocke had said they were sensitive to telepaths. The last thing Jean wanted was to give herself away. Hopefully, she would be able to feel it if they were observing her directly, and she hadn't sensed any in the house.

_Do you know where we are?_ Dana asked.

Jean had not scanned any of the soldiers deeply, but she had gotten that much. _Some kind of government-owned safe house. They use it for political prisoners and private meetings, that kind of thing._ She resisted the urge to scratch her itching eyes. It appeared she wasn't quite done with the gas' after effects. _The only problem I can see is that we're in North Carolina at the moment, and our rendezvous is in New York in a tad under three hours. Gateway's not the kind to wait around._

_Gateway?_

Jean smiled. _ It's his name. Well, the only one we have to call him by, anyway._

_Oh_. Dana closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the bars. _Can you talk to him from here?_

Jean was impressed by how quickly she adapted to the concept of telepathic communication and began to incorporate it into her thought process. Usually, people who disliked telepathy tended to ignore the possible benefits to both themselves and others. As if by not thinking about it, they could somehow make it go away. She was pleased that Dana didn't react that way.

_Not without hanging out a great big sign for these 'gray men' of yours that I'm a telepath._

Dana brought her head up sharply and stared at Jean. _Don't tell me you believe in little gray men!_

Jean was taken aback by her vehemence. On one hand, she seemed to believe that there was such a thing, but she also hated herself for it. It was as if she felt she were giving into a type of psychosis by believing in the existence of aliens and giving credence to the tangled web of conspiracy theories that formed a kind of urban mythos around them.

Finally, Jean decided that what little she could tell the FBI agent would only aggravate the situation. _I do believe there is_ something _out there_, she said. _Rogue called them the gray men, and the name stuck._

Dana's eyebrows dipped. _Rogue is the woman who crashed here last year?_ She seemed to want to change the subject.

_Yes._

They lapsed into silence. Jean took the opportunity to make another scan for Remy. Although she had put up shields against unwanted observers, it didn't occur to her to shield herself from _him_ when she did it. The full force of his pain slammed into her. She doubled over with a cry, her vision blanking as she fought to filter the sensations to a manageable level.

"Jean!" Dana's hands were on her, helping her to sit up. "What happened?"

Jean ignored the question as she regained control of her senses. A hard knot fury coalesced in the pit of her stomach, demanding action. "Come on." She rose to her feet with Dana half-supporting her, and turned to face the cage door.

With a telepathic wave, she yanked out the wires to the surveillance camera. Then she shattered the lock on the door. Dana turned away from the burst of metal shards, then stared at her, eyes huge.

"Remy is downstairs," she grated as she concentrated on the soldier outside their door. She had pushed her awareness of him into the back of her mind, reducing the pain to a dull ache, but she was almost too angry for words. It was a reaction she usually hid, knowing that her husband simply would not understand, but there were no X-Men here to see her now.

Dana opened the door of the cage at the same time the soldier outside slumped against the wall. Jean led the way across the room, pausing only to manipulate the tumblers in the door lock. She swung the door open and stepped out into the hall. Dana followed her after retrieving the soldier's weapon. The hall was empty, and Jean turned toward the kitchen and the stairs that would lead them to the basement.

They burst into the kitchen, taking the two men sitting at the wide table by surprise. They raised their hands uncertainly at Dana's command, their gazes locked on the automatic rifle pointed at them. Dana shot Jean a questioning glance.

_Get them down on the floor,_ Jean told her.

The two obeyed as Dana relayed the command, and as soon as they were prone, Jean telekinetically clamped down on the appropriate arteries until both were unconscious. It was neat and untraceable, but more importantly, it was fast. So far, they had moved so quickly that no alarm had yet been sounded. Jean hoped their luck would hold for at least a few minutes more.

They went down the basement stairs more carefully, though Jean's scan told her that there were only two men with Remy. They paused outside the door to the room and Dana nodded as Jean gave her a silent count. On three, Jean blew the door inward, hoping for the maximum element of surprise and then followed Dana through the doorway. The room was dim, lit only by a single bulb in a metal shade. Jean could see the nearer man pretty well, but both Cancer Man and Remy were nearly buried in the shadows. She tried to reach out to Remy, but received only a confusing burst of impressions, mixed with pain.

As expected, both Cancer Man and the other spun around at their entrance. Jean hit the closest man with a telepathic spike and he collapsed immediately. Cancer Man was slowly raising his hands under Dana's direction when Jean turned to him. To her surprise, her spike barely fazed him.

"Hey!" She narrowed her gaze and hit him harder. Though she might not have admitted it, she was immensely gratified to see him fall. Without another glance, she turned her attention to the man who hung limply in front of her.

His eyes flickered open as she approached. "Jean..." Then he was gone, sliding into unconsciousness.

Jean glanced at Dana, who had stepped up beside her. Her expression was once again filled with that professional compassion that Jean was certain masked real concern. "Let's get him down." There was a quiet anger there, too, which Jean appreciated.

Not wanting to be too obvious, since she wasn't certain if there were cameras hidden in the darkness, Jean broke the manacles at the welded seams, and together she and Dana lowered Remy to the floor. A red light on the wall began to flash as they did so, and Jean's breath caught in her throat. The alarm!

"Now what?" Dana asked.

Jean lifted Remy onto her shoulders with a little boost of telekinesis and then stood. Her mind was churning. She didn't want to have to fight their way out. This wasn't her Earth, where it would be, at most, another incident to fan the anti-mutant hysteria even further. Here, it was the stuff of miracles, and the kind of thing that would draw far more government attention than they could afford. She smiled grimly. Maybe it was time for some more of that subtlety.

_Drag those two into a dark corner._ Jean motioned towards the two unconscious government men. _They'll be more likely to be overlooked for a while._

Dana frowned and shouldered her weapon. _We can't afford to stay down here very long. We're trapped here. _

_If anyone saw us here, we would be,_ Jean agreed. _But those soldiers aren't going to see us. They're going to see them._ She nodded toward the two.

Dana stared at her, eyes narrowing, as she considered the implications. Then she nodded once, and went to move the unconscious men.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Who are these people?" Jean asked as they stood outside the unmarked door of a nondescript apartment building. She carried Remy in her arms as if he weighed nothing, and Dana surmised that she was using a good deal more telekinesis than muscle.

Dana pounded on the door again. "Friends of Mulder's." She glanced at Jean. "Raving paranoids, all of them, but they're well connected."

Jean gave her an odd look, but didn't comment. Which was probably just as well, Dana thought. The other woman's temper had soured considerably as Remy's condition worsened. But she had refused to take him to any kind of regular hospital or clinic for treatment for reasons that Dana understood, though could not agree with. So they had made the drive back to Arlington in tense silence, with Remy's labored breathing the only interruption.

"Who is it?" asked a suspicious voice from behind the door, and Dana heard the sound of a hand on the inner latch.

"It's Dana Scully." Briefly, Dana wondered what Mulder would have thought of her choice of refuges. More than likely, he would simply have given her that knowing grin and not said a word.

Dana caught a flicker of motion behind the fisheye peephole in the door before the latches rattled and the door swung part way open to reveal a sliver of Langley's face, complete with hornrim glasses and long, stringy hair . He grinned at Dana. "What can I do for you, Agent Scully?" he asked brightly.

"I need your help." She looked over at Jean, drawing Langley's eye in her direction. She watched as he absorbed the ravishing beauty, and then the injured man in her arms.

He glanced curiously at Dana, then stepped back and opened the door fully. "Come in." He watched the hallway as they passed him and stepped into what Dana had privately dubbed "The Lair". Unsurprisingly, both Frohicke and Byers were there. They looked up from something they were examining together under a microscope when she and Jean came in.

"In here." Langley crowded past the other two, leading them to a back bedroom. A mattress and box spring lay on the floor, surrounded by piles of books and papers. He kicked a stack out of the way, allowing Jean to take Remy to the bed. Byers and Frohicke followed them in, but hovered near the doorway.

Dana turned to Byers. Tall and well-manicured, he had always struck her as more of a professorial type than a conspiracy-monger, and she tended to trust him a little more than the other two.

"What kind of medical equipment can you get me?" Dana asked him.

She was pleased when he didn't hedge, but simply shrugged. "Tell me what you need."

Dana rattled off a list that she had been working on in her head for several hours. Much of what she wanted was impossible—namely an X-ray and a decent lab. But an I.V., suture, and the other things she needed were certainly available.

"That's an expensive list, Agent Scully," Frohicke said in his quietly unassuming manner. He stood in the doorway, watching them with keen curiosity.

Dana glanced at Jean who shook her head no. Jean obviously had a number of resources, but apparently a source of cash wasn't one of them.

"But perhaps we could arrange a trade?"

The eager expression on Frohicke's face made Dana instantly suspiciously. "What kind of trade?"

His leer was patently obvious. "A candlelight dinner, perhaps some dancing?"

Across from her, Jean's eyes narrowed angrily.

_They aren't altruists,_ Dana reminded her privately. Even Mulder hadn't trusted them completely.

_I didn't realize that lechery was the opposite of altruism._ Jean continued to settle Remy on the bed, her eyes down and focused on what she was doing. But the sarcastic bite of her words was not lost on Dana.

_That's just Frohicke,_ Dana replied. _Just wait. He'll be hitting on you in a few minutes._

_I'll break his arm._

Dana cleared her throat to hide a smile. She had absolutely no intention of going on a date with that dirty old man. She would rather have a liposuction. But she was going to have to come up with something to offer them that was worth the money they'd spend on medical supplies. She chewed on her lip as she thought.

Finally, she turned to regard him, allowing just the slightest hint of suggestion to creep into her voice. "I can give you something much better than a sordid evening of wining and dining."

Frohicke's eyebrows danced as he tried to decide just how much to read into the statement. He opened his mouth several times without ever uttering a word, and Dana was reminded of a goldfish. She watched him stoically, secretly enjoying every moment of his discomfort. Behind him, Langley and Byers traded grins.

Eventually, Frohicke found his voice. "What could possibly be better than an evening with you?"

Dana felt a stab of triumph. She had him. "How about this, Frohicke," she said in her most no-nonsense tone. "You three help me keep this man alive, and in exchange I'll give you irrefutable proof of something you've been searching for."

Frohicke frowned. "Proof of what?"

Dana refused to smile. It would ruin her credibility. "Proof of telekinesis as a viable physical phenomenon."

Frohicke turned to the others, and the three men exchanged silent glances as they tried to evaluate the worth of such proof. While they were occupied, Jean looked over at Dana, her smile hinting at wicked humor. Then Remy groaned, and her smile died.

_They're going to get a lot more than that if this fever gets bad enough to make him delirious._

Dana didn't get the chance to ask what she meant.

"Agreed," Frohicke said, sounding slightly regretful. Dana nodded, and Byers left. Had it been anyone other than one of these three, Dana would have insisted that he take a written list of the things she'd asked for. But she had learned from experience that they were far more capable than they looked, no matter what her opinion of their various personalities. She was not at all surprised that Byers could recognize the medical terms she used well enough to be able to memorize a set of them.

The tension between herself and Frohicke was broken by the sound of the apartment door opening and closing as Byers left. Langley disappeared from the doorway, only to return a few minutes later with a small first aid kit. Frohicke left as well, most likely to go back to whatever their arrival had interrupted.

Dana thanked Langley, who gave her a helplessly goofy grin. "Telekinesis, huh?"

Dana opened the kit and was pleased to find a penlight and stethoscope among the rolls of bandages. "Patience is a virtue, Langley," she reminded him without looking up.

Clearly disappointed, he watched them for a moment more, then wandered out of the room. Dana was barely aware of him. Her attention had narrowed and was now focused solely on her patient. She had given him a very cursory examination in the basement of the house where they'd been held prisoner. Now, she had a much better opportunity to asses the true extent of his injuries. The moist rattle of his breathing worried her, but there was little she could do for his internal injuries. Only time would tell her how extensive those were.

With careful fingers she explored his skull. This was her other area of concern. The matted blood was hard to see against his red hair, but it was easy enough to feel and she found two contusions, either of which could easily indicate a fracture. She picked up the penlight and leaned forward to check his pupils.

Dana sucked in her breath in poorly concealed dismay and sat back. The eye was filled with blood. Some kind of hemorrhaging from the blows to the head, most likely. And it had happened a while ago, too. The blood was already blackening, congealing, leaving only a small ring around the pupil that remained fresh and red. It was no guarantee, of course, but the chance of brain damage with that kind of hemorrhaging was high.

Jean watched her with a worried expression. "Dana?" There was a quiet fear there, and Dana felt inadequate to the task of telling her the bad news. It was one of many reasons she had abandoned the medical field in favor of the FBI. She might be very good with medicine, but she was horrible with people.

Quickly, she checked the other eye and was once again startled. It was identical, which was very odd. Head injuries were almost never symmetrical. Other discrepancies clicked into place in her mind. There was no blood leaking from either eye, which she would have expected. Also, the pupil had contracted in fairly normal reaction to her light. She frowned and looked more closely.

"Is this normal?" she finally asked Jean. She was forced to conclude that her original assessment was incorrect. Despite their color, there didn't seem to be any obvious damage.

Jean nodded. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you. Yes, that's normal for him."

_That explains his obsession with sunglasses, anyway._ Then Dana cocked an eyebrow as her initial wash of relief turned to annoyance. "Is there anything else you should tell me about?"

Jean considered her gravely. "I don't... think so." She sighed and gave Dana an apologetic smile. "We're so used to mutant physiology that I forget how strange it can seem to someone else."

"We?" Dana continued her exam, but now half of her mind was on Jean's words, and the implications she read there.

Jean seemed unaware of the intensity of her interest. "Mutants."

Dana paused. _Mutants._ As if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. She went back to work without further comment. But deep in her heart was the growing conviction that she would find out the truth about these mutants. No matter what the truth turned out to be. And no matter how long it took her.

#-#-#-#

"What do you think?" Scott eyed Wolverine speculatively. They were standing in a recessed doorway, across the street from a row of unremarkable warehouses. Rain fell in steady sheets just beyond their hiding place.

Wolverine snorted and shook the water out of his eyes. He was soaked from an hour-long reconnoiter of the buildings, though Scott knew the wet wouldn't bother him particularly. "Rain's washed most a the smells away," he said as he continued to dry his face. "But I found enough." He nodded toward the warehouses. "Third one down."

"Right." Scott touched the com badge pinned to his uniform and relayed the information. Lilandra's transport, hidden in orbit around Mars, had identified a transmission from one of the Racth'zai ships to this location, and Lilandra had given it to the X-Men to investigate. So far, Scott was cautiously optimistic about her approach. The Shi'ar Empress seemed content, for now, to observe, giving the X-Men and their allies the chance to uncover the truth and deal with it through human agencies. The last thing they needed was two alien species going to war in the skies over Earth.

Several X-Men joined them as he and Wolverine crept up to the warehouse. The sheeting rain had them all looking like drowned rats, but Scott ignored it and turned to Psylocke. "Anything?"

She shrugged. "Plenty. But nothing that I can understand."

"What do you mean?"

She pulled her long hair away from her face. "I can sense thoughts from at least twenty beings in there, but I can't tell you what they're thinking. It's very fuzzy—indistinct."

"Racth'zai?"

"I don't think so."

Scott frowned, wishing that Jean was there. Not that she could have told him anything more than Elizabeth, especially since Psylocke was the only telepath among them who had encountered this race before. But he trusted Jean's ability to analyze a situation, and to catch the subtleties that he might miss.

"So what's the plan, sugah?" Rogue's drawl held its Southern warmth, despite the weather. Her gaze, however, was calculating. Scott thought she was one of the strangest mixtures of naive girl and trained field operative he had ever met. Even after four years, he still had no idea what to expect from her.

He shrugged. "I have no idea. This is called 'stirring the pot', people."

"And for this they pay you the big bucks?" Icicles dripped from Bobby's ice form, but his grin was unmistakable.

Scott ignored the jibe since he couldn't think of an immediate rejoinder. He split them into two teams to cover the two entrances to the warehouse. Psylocke, Rogue and Iceman had the back door. He, Wolverine and Cannonball would take the front. He had no idea what they were going to do when they got inside—he would have to decide once he saw what was there.

Unsurprisingly, the front door was locked. It was made of reinforced steel, along with the doorframe. A small numeric pad next to the handle apparently controlled the lock.

"Guess they don't want visitors," Wolverine commented as he studied the door.

Scott fired an optic blast through the locking mechanism, severing the bolt. "Too bad." The door swung open and the three of them went through in a rush. Cannonball immediately blasted into the air, his fiery trail shedding much-needed light on the dim interior of the cavernous space.

The entire warehouse appeared to be filled with rows of equipment. Scott's gaze was drawn to the coffin-sized tubes filled with green liquid that were spaced evenly about the floor. Each was surrounded by a dizzying array of lines, tubes and computer screens. A technician standing beside one of the tubes looked up in alarm at their entrance. He didn't move, but his eyes grew wider as Scott and Logan approached.

"This is a restricted area. You should not be here," he said. To Scott, he sounded more bewildered than angry.

"Who are you?" Scott demanded.

"Edgar. Now, please, you must go."

"Why?" The guttural syllable from Wolverine sounded more like a growl than a word.

Edgar blanched slightly. "Because your presence here places you all in jeopardy."

Behind Edgar, Scott could see Psylocke and Iceman approaching. Rogue hovered silently above them, studying one of the cylinders. Something inside it thrashed suddenly and she jerked back in surprise.

_Psylocke?_ he asked privately. She would have been scanning Edgar since she entered the building.

_He is honestly concerned about our safety._ She sounded puzzled. _He considers us... valuable? I'm not sure if that's exactly right. He's very hard to read. It's like he's not a real person._ She paused. _No, not real. It's like he's not complete. There is absolutely nothing in his head that doesn't involve this lab._

_What are they doing here?_

Psylocke reached them, her strange gaze fastening on him over Edgar's shoulder. _Take a look in one of the cylinders_.

Scott moved over to look in the nearest one. There was something in there. Something humanoid, though it was hard to see through the murky liquid. But after a moment it turned, and its face floated close to the glass. Scott stared in surprise. It was a man in the tank, and he had Edgar's face.

#-#-#-#

Dana checked the flow on the I.V. one last time and then settled back with a sigh. She had done everything she could, given the situation. Jean watched her from the other side of the bed, the question on her face obvious.

Dana brushed the hair out of her face. "I'm not going to be able to tell you anything for a while, I'm afraid. My biggest concern is internal bleeding—without the proper equipment, I can't say how bad the damage might be." She caught Jean's gaze and held it, trying to impress on her the seriousness of what she was saying. "If he starts to hemorrhage, he will probably die before we could get him to a hospital."

Jean lowered her eyes. "What is the chance of that happening?"

"I don't know."

Jean reached over to smooth a wrinkle in the sheet. "His temperature is still rising." Dana wasn't sure if she was deliberately trying to change the subject, or if she was truly that concerned about his fever.

"It will take the antibiotics a while to kick in. At the moment, though, he's not in any danger from that."

Jean shifted her position. "But we might be."

Dana blinked at the obscure statement. "What do you mean?"

"Remy tends to become very violent when he's delusional." She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees and twined her fingers together beneath her chin. "And given the highly destructive nature of his power, he becomes very dangerous as well."

"His power?" The blithe way Jean said that left her feeling a little apprehensive. "I take it those eyes and the ability to jump sixty feet without breaking a leg isn't the full extent?" She couldn't help the sarcasm that crept into her voice. Every scientific bone in Dana's body told her that these people couldn't possibly exist. There was no rational explanation for them or these "powers" Jean referred to so casually. But since they were _right there_, solid and real before her, Dana could find little grounds to argue. It was frustrating.

Jean responded with a tiny smile. "No. Remy's major power is called biokinetic charge."

Dana raised a skeptical eyebrow and Jean's smile widened. "I don't know what it means, either. But in practical terms, it means he can blow things up just by touching them."

Dana had a momentary vision of the armored gate at the Turing-Rocheland facility exploding in violent ball of fire after being hit by the glowing objects Remy had thrown.

"I've seen that, I think," she said after a moment. "He threw something."

Jean nodded. "Probably a playing card."

Dana's gaze jumped involuntarily to Remy's face as the implications hit her. This man could turn a piece of cardboard into a weapon equivalent to a small missile? Jean's concern about delirium was suddenly much more understandable.

"What... will you do?"

Jean's expression was equivalent to a shrug. "I can contain the blasts in a kinetic bubble so that the building isn't damaged. But protecting both Remy and myself inside of that can be taxing."

The image her words conjured up was nothing short of frightening. Dana had seen these powers, had felt them. She had to accept their reality, no matter how impossible it seemed. Once again she wished Mulder could be there. This was the kind of thing he'd always dreamed of, and where Dana was frightened by the utter strangeness, Mulder would have embraced it without hesitation. She could just imagine his reaction had Jean lifted _him_ down into that hangar. He would still be asking questions.

Jean was watching her curiously, and Dana tried to explain. "I was just thinking about—" It still hurt to say his name. "Mulder." Uncomfortable, she searched for a new topic before Jean could ask her any questions. Her gaze fastened on the ring on Jean's left hand. "You're married?" She looked over at Remy.

Jean nodded. "Yes." Then she followed Dana's gaze and her eyes widened. "Oh. No. Goodness." She laughed, seeming somewhat embarrassed. "Yes, I'm married, but not to Remy," she explained after a moment.

"Oh." Dana wasn't certain what to say. She had completely misread them. "You just seem... close."

Jean's smile softened as she looked toward the still form on the bed. "I guess we are. But it's not that kind of relationship."

Dana nodded and held her tongue. She was very curious, but she didn't know how to ask such a personal question without feeling like she was sticking her foot directly into her mouth. Jean didn't seem to notice as she stared at Remy. To Dana's surprise, she seemed to want to talk about it.

"I guess it's because we end up spending a fair amount of time alone together—usually when one of us is hurt." Her expression was distant. "We're pretty cautious whenever Remy is unconscious. He has a lot of skeletons in the closet, I guess, and they tend to jump out when we're least expecting it." She idly twined a lock of hair around her finger as she talked. "I'm the only one who can really contain the damage, so I have to stay with him. Everyone else stays away so that I won't have to protect them, too, which makes it easier on me. And I've overheard a few things that I'm pretty sure Remy hasn't told anyone else." She shrugged. "Given the circumstances, it's only right that I keep his confidence." She glanced briefly at Dana, then away. "In return, Remy always comes to visit me when I'm the one that's down. Hank usually isolates me when I'm unconscious as well, for fairly similar reasons. I could blow out the minds of anyone in the vicinity, without ever knowing it."

Dana almost interrupted her, but bit her lip. As much as she wanted to ask what Jean meant by "blowing out" a mind, she had the feeling that the current topic was one she did not discuss easily, despite how much she seemed to want to.

"But Remy is... highly resistant to telepathy," Jean went on, apparently unaware of Dana's thoughts. "He'll sneak in when I'm supposed to be in isolation and sit and talk to me. Or he'll steal the book I'm reading off my nightstand and read the rest of it to me. There were times I was trapped inside my own mind—I think I would have gone crazy if it weren't for Remy's voice."

She sighed softly and straightened. "I guess it's a kind of love, but it's not romantic." She made a helpless gesture, as if she were struggling to define the concept for herself as she explained it to Dana. "We just look out for each other. We... protect each other when each of us is most vulnerable."

Dana could only stare at her as the bottom dropped out of her heart. The words had brought into clear definition a feeling that had been haunting her. She had never been able to explain her feelings for Mulder—not to herself or anyone else. But there it was, laid out before her in perfect, luminous clarity. Relief swept through her as her uncertainty and confusion were abruptly resolved. _I loved him_, she thought in surprise.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Ororo Munroe let herself out of the plush office without visible expression. But inwardly, she heaved a sigh of relief. Her high-heeled shoes tapped rhythmically along the floor of the Congressional building as she made her way toward the front door. She had come to Washington D.C. at Professor Xavier's request, to speak with one of the few men in the government that the X-Men trusted. His membership in the mutant underground was a closely kept secret.

Unfortunately, he had known nothing about gray men or governmental conspiracies involving anything extraterrestrial. But he had referred her to a Senator Sorenson, and that was the office she had just left. Ororo suppressed a shiver. The man was so corrupt that she felt polluted simply from being in the same room with him. She was amazed that Tom hadn't warned her, but perhaps he did not see what she did.

Senator Sorenson had told her nothing as well, which did not surprise her. They had danced carefully around the delicate issues. Ororo had not given him any confirmation that she knew of the conspiracy and the Racth'zai, and he had not given her any in return. But when she left his office, she was certain that they both knew.

Ororo pushed open the glass door leading out of the building, and took a deep breath of fresh air. Pigeons exploded into the air around her as she stepped into their midst. Her car was parked several blocks away, but she didn't mind. The walk would be far more pleasant than the drive back to her hotel. Ororo hated driving. Passionately, though she would not have admitted it.

The crisp fall air was invigorating, and Ororo felt worlds better by the time she reached her rented Audi. She stuck the key in the door lock just as another car pulled down the row. Something made Ororo turn as the car drew even with her position. A warning sense-- that undefinable feeling of dread, followed by a rush of adrenaline. She registered the nose of a silencer sticking out of a gap in the tinted window and instinctively summoned lightning to protect herself. The bullets bounced away from her as her lightning sought out the metal objects, blasting each with millions of watts of energy.

The car accelerated, tires squealing, before Ororo had a chance to collect her thoughts. It pulled recklessly out into the heavy D.C. traffic as she raised her hands. There she paused, unwilling to risk hitting innocents with the massive bolt of electricity. The car cut across traffic to turn at the first intersection and disappeared from sight. Ororo lowered her hands, a satisfied smile on her lips. _Mission accomplished._

#-#-#-#

"So, is he going to live?" Jean jerked awake at the sudden noise. She had been dozing with her chin resting in her palm.

"I believe so," Dana said. She had turned to look up at the one named Frohicke, who leaned against the door jam, arms crossed. Jean was tempted to get angry at his mercenary tone. But Dana had warned her about them, and a quick mindscan had confirmed what she'd said. These men worshipped Information-- people would always be secondary to that.

"Then you owe us a certain proof you mentioned."

Jean snorted privately. Proof she would be more than happy to provide. Dana seemed to recognize her emotions, and the corner of her mouth curled upwards. She turned her head to hide the unbidden smile from Frohicke.

"Of course," Dana answered after a moment. Her expression had again grown flat and Jean admired her self-control. She climbed stiffly to her feet, and Jean followed. They had both spent the night on the floor next to the bed, and Jean didn't think the other woman had slept any better than she had. The good news, though, was that Remy's condition had improved dramatically as the hours passed. Dana still couldn't tell her when he might wake up, but she was no longer concerned about losing him.

Dana led them out into the main room. Jean hesitated to call it a living room, given the piles of equipment that covered every horizontal surface in the room, including the floor. Hank would have liked it, she thought as she looked around. His lab was very much the same way, though somewhat cleaner. The three men gathered with them and Jean could clearly sense the mixture of curiosity and anticipation each one emanated.

"Well?" Langley asked after a moment.

Dana looked at Jean, who answered with a mild shrug. "What would you like to see?" she asked the three men.

"_You're_ the telekinetic?"

Jean didn't answer, enjoying their uncertainty.

"All right," Langley finally said. "Here, lift this." He stretched out his hand toward her and laid a ballpoint pen on his upright palm.

Jean kept her smile to herself and felt Dana doing the same. She made a show of furrowing her brow in concentration, and then lifted the pen shakily into the air. Behind the floating pen, Langley's eyes were huge, and filled with almost childish excitement. Slowly, he moved his hand back and forth beneath the pen, then around it, as if confirming that there were no hidden supports.

A stray violent thought caught Jean's attention, startling her. She turned toward the source, searching, and discovered several men converging on the front door. More were moving around to the back of the building, and Jean quickly identified them as an FBI swat team. She dropped the pen, which hit the carpet with a dull thump, and turned back to Langley.

"Is there another way out of here?" she demanded.

He blinked at her in surprise. "What?"

"We've got about three minutes before the swat team out there comes through the door."

While Langley was still digesting that, Byers motioned toward the kitchen. "Of course. Through here," he told her calmly.

_Go,_ Jean told Dana. _I'll get Remy._

Dana nodded and followed the three men, while Jean hurried toward the bedroom. To her surprise, Remy was awake, propped on one shoulder as he tried to swing his feet off the edge of the bed. She darted forward and caught him before he could fall, using a burst of telekinesis to help him to his feet.

"Company, chere," he said weakly as she maneuvered to brace him against her shoulder.

She couldn't help but smile at the typical Gambit bravado. "I know. We're leaving." She half-led, half-carried him into the kitchen, where someone had torn apart the interior of one of the lower cabinets. Dana had the trapdoor, built into the floor of it, open and was in the process of climbing through. It appeared to open into a crawlspace beneath the building that Jean estimated at no more than two feet high.

"East," Frohicke told her, pointing in the appropriate direction. "There's a maintenance door that goes down into the parking garage."

Jean nodded in acknowledgment as she helped Remy into the cabinet. She could feel the wash of pain from him as he crawled headfirst into the tight space, but it didn't seem to slow him. Jean was right on his heels as a terrific boom announced the swat team's entry. Frantically, she pulled herself down into the musty darkness, yanking her feet out of the way as Frohicke closed the door behind her. She heard the muted thumps as things were tossed haphazardly back into the cupboard and then shouts and the pounding of feet on the floor above her.

The crawlspace was pitch black, with only the faintest traces of light outlining the edges of the trapdoor. As she turned her head toward where she knew the others were, she caught a flash of Remy's eyes, glowing red, before he turned his head away. The surface beneath her palms was rough cement, and the cold clamminess of it almost seemed to soak through her clothes as she lay there. The air smelled musty, almost rotten. A small, irrational portion of her mind wondered just what kinds of bugs lived in this little gap. Roaches, certainly. Perhaps spiders, too. Normally Jean wouldn't be bothered by insects, but the idea that they could be crawling around just beyond the tips of her finger made her shiver.

Dana was already moving, the rustle of her clothing against the cement barely audible over the tumult in the apartment above their heads. Jean briefly hoped that nothing would happen to the three men. Not that she held much affection for any of them, but they _had_ helped and she did not want to see them harmed because of it.

After a moment, Remy crawled after Dana, his breath hissing through his teeth.

_Remy?_ she asked as she followed him.

_I c'n manage,_ he answered curtly.

Jean was somewhat doubtful, but she kept the thought to herself. He was moving under his own power for the moment.

_Dana, can you find the door they were talking about?_

Jean heard a muffled thump from ahead of her, followed by a whispered curse. _Ow. Yes. There's some light. And tell Remy to watch out for this water pipe._

Jean relayed the warning, then made a quick scan of the area in search of the FBI agents. They were still in the apartment or outside the building, frustrated that they could not find their quarry.

Following the sounds of movement in front of her, Jean navigated the obstacle course of pipes, ducts and wires. Suddenly, the tight space was flooded with light as Dana released the latch on the maintenance door, allowing it to swing down into the emptiness below them. Without pausing, Dana slithered through the opening in the ceiling of the parking garage, and Jean heard the dull report of her landing. From the sound, she guessed that Dana had dropped down onto the hood of a car. Remy followed, and Jean buoyed his descent with a telekinetic bubble as she moved to the lip of the opening. From there, she could look down into the garage, and she scanned it quickly, but neither saw nor sensed anyone near them. Then she dropped down herself as Dana helped Remy off of the hood of a new-looking Forerunner.

"My car is over there." Dana pointed in the appropriate direction. Jean was grateful. She hadn't exactly been paying attention when they'd come in.

They'd taken no more than three steps when they heard a man's shout. _Where did_ he _come from? _she thought angrily. There hadn't been anyone in the garage when she'd scanned it. She touched his mind for the barest instant. _Idiot was asleep on the job. No wonder I didn't sense him._ He had been assigned to keep an eye on Dana's car.

The man in question was obviously a junior agent, and Jean put his age at something just barely over twenty as he ran across the garage toward them. Jean looked back at the Forerunner. "I guess we'll take this one."

Dana was already moving. She took up a position by the front wheel well on the passenger side, drawing her gun as she went. Using the hood of the truck as a support, she lined up on the approaching agent.

"Freeze! FBI!" she shouted. The young agent saw her gun, backpedaled in a almost comic confusion, and dove behind the cover of a nearby vehicle. The action gave Jean plenty of time to help Remy climb into the back seat, and then get in behind the wheel herself. It was a simple matter to telekinetically mimic a skeleton key to start the engine. Dana darted to the passenger side door the moment the engine turned over, and Jean pulled sharply away before she'd even closed the door. They roared past the poor agent, who simply stared at them.

Jean swept the street in front of the garage telepathically before she reached the exit, and swung neatly out into the traffic without pausing. Behind them, swat members were shouting and running for their vehicles, but Jean was confident she could lose them in the mid-morning traffic. All she had to do was remember how to get back to the highway.

Dana leaned her head back against the headrest as she holstered her weapon. Then she turned to look at Jean out of the corners of her eyes. A faint smile touched her lips. "Would you like to be Thelma or Louise?"

Jean chuckled, but didn't respond. They drove in silence for a few minutes, as Dana split her attention between the traffic behind them and the uncommonly quiet man sprawled in the back seat. From what Jean could read from him, Remy would be all right for a little while, though their impromptu spelunking trip had torn open most of his stitches.

Eventually, Dana turned to the front again. "So, is there a plan?" she asked plainly.

Jean shrugged. "I'm heading for our rendezvous point in New York."

"I thought you missed your contact."

"We did. But I'm sure my husband will think of something." Jean just hoped he wouldn't overreact and bring the entire team over to this dimension to look for them. It had turned out to be a far more dangerous place that they'd thought.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked idly at a tuft of grass, the picture of boredom. Logan watched him for a moment, then let his eyes sag shut once more.

"How much longer are we going ta wait?" Sam asked.

Logan came back to himself with a start. He wasn't entirely sure how long had passed since he'd last opened his eyes. He had the feeling that he'd actually been asleep and it had been longer than he thought. But the spring sun was just warm enough to be cozy, and the area where they waited was filled with gentle breezes wafting fresh earthen scents around him. The tar-smell of the blacktop two lane road that ran through the woods about twenty feet from where Logan sat was mild compared to the rampant greenery. If it weren't for the nagging worry in the back of his mind, he would be utterly content.

He opened his eyes again and stared at Sam from beneath the brim of his hat. "Until Jeannie shows, or Cyke calls us back," he answered. Scott had sent them across the gulf into this other world to look for their missing X-Men, but a couple of phone calls to Washington D.C. had verified that the F.B.I agent Dana Scully was not home, nor had she been there for several days to judge from the backlog of message beeps on her answering machine. Rather than run wildly around D.C. trying to pick up Jean and Remy's tracks, Logan had decided to wait here, at the rendezvous, to see if they would show up. She and Remy were less than a full day late so far, which was alarming only to a rigid-thinker like Scott.

Logan turned his head to check on Gateway. The third member of their party sat in silence a short ways away, meditating, as he had since they'd arrived. _'Least he knows how ta sit still,_ Logan thought. Sam was young enough to be annoying for a number of reasons, and his constant shuffling was beginning to wear on Logan's nerves. But it wouldn't do any good to tell him to sit down. The boy couldn't help his restless energy, and if he couldn't move his body, he'd probably start running his mouth. Logan smiled as he adjusted the brim of his hat. _And the last thing I need is another mouthy sidekick._

#-#-#-#

Dana leaned forward between the front seats and peered out the windshield. "Where are we?" She had climbed into the back to check on Remy once they were certain there was no one pursuing them, and had decided to stay with him. Jean had to keep pushing her uncertainties into a shadowed corner of her mind, lest they consume her. Remy's breathing had again become a frightening bubbling wheeze, and the fact that Dana had not felt confident to leave him only added to her fear. She wasn't sure what she would do if there was no one waiting for them at the rendezvous. There was no one in this part of the country for them to turn to—not on this world, anyway. And she couldn't take Remy to a hospital. The staff would have to report him since there was no way his injuries could be the result of an accident. For all her powers, she felt entirely helpless.

"We're just outside of Westchester, New York," she answered as calmly as she could, but her voice still wavered. Dana didn't seem to notice.

"How much further?"

"About ten minutes." The roads and houses here were remarkably similar to her home, something she and Remy had discussed on the drive out. On the way, they'd even passed the Cow Rock, which was what had started the conversation in the first place. The turn onto Graymalkin Lane was marked rather incongruously by a large rock, painted white with uneven black spots. It looked for all the world like the owner of the corner house had painted the rock up to mimic a cow's hide. It was hideously ugly, but no one she knew of had ever missed the turn. And apparently it existed in this world as well.

Dana settled back into her seat just as a familiar whomping sound reached Jean's ears.

"Uh oh," Jean said and Dana craned her head to look out the back window. Jean checked the side mirror and was unsurprised to see the sleek shape of a helicopter pacing them above the maples that lined the country road.

"I don't see any markings," Dana said. "Not even a tail number."

Jean glanced in the mirror again. The helicopter was painted jet black and, as she watched, a second, identical, bird swung out from behind the first. It moved up beside its partner, flanking the road on the opposite side.

Jean formed a telekinetic shield around the truck as a precaution and turned her attention back to the road in front of her. For the moment, she didn't really care who had sent the helicopters or why, nor did she care much whether they were going to attack or not. Home was only a few miles away, provided that someone was waiting to give them a gate across. She had pinned her hopes on that belief, betting not only her own safety, but also Remy's life, on it.

Dana was still watching the helicopters. "I see two gunners stepping out onto the rails."

Jean strengthened the shields as the distinctive rattle of gunfire filled the air. "Got it." She could feel the impacts of the bullets against her shields, but ignored them. Their weapons couldn't penetrate her defenses.

The noise of the bullets ricocheting from the shields echoed loudly inside the truck, and Jean was grateful when it finally stopped. But then, one of the helicopters picked up speed, passing over them. It flew a ways ahead and then slowed to a hover, turned, and descended until it was only a few feet off of the blacktop. Jean realized that they meant to force her to stop by blocking the road. The trees that lined the country highway were just barely far enough apart to allow the small helicopter to descend and left no room for Jean to maneuver around him.

At another time, she might have been willing to stop, to avoid risking the lives of the men in the helicopter, but she was tired, frightened, and more desperate than she was willing to admit. So she floored the accelerator, strengthening the shields around the truck as she did so.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Dana commented, but her voice was calm. Jean didn't feel anything from her except a twinge of nervousness as they rushed headlong at the helicopter. At the last moment, the aircraft reared, leaping upward as the pilot pulled back frantically on the stick. They were so close that Jean could see his eyes widen in terror as he realized that she did not intend to stop. Then he was out of her field of view, rising above the truck, but he had reacted too slowly. Jean felt the helicopter's landing rails slam into the roof above her head. Her shield took the impact, but as she turned in horror to look out the back window, she saw the helicopter cartweel over them. The tips of the rotor blades hit the pavement, disintegrating and throwing pieces of metal in all directions. The body of the helicopter crashed upside down into the road just a moment later, the rotational energy from the still-spinning rotor hub sending it tumbling. It slammed into the line of trees, toppling one, and then promptly exploded.

Cold and frightened, Jean turned forward again. _It was an accident,_ she told herself. _They were trying to kill us._ But she had deliberately _not_ used her powers to move the helicopter out of the way because of the risk of exposing her mutant nature and the extent of her powers. The more time she spent in this world, the more convinced she became that these 'gray men' or whatever they really were, were perhaps the greatest threat to the human race they had ever seen.

#-#-#-#

Logan sat bolt upright at the sight of a pillar of fire rising over the trees. _Jean?_ he called, knowing that if she were in the vicinity, she would hear him.

_Logan!_ The wealth of relief in her voice sent a chill down his spine. Not that she wasn't generally glad to see him, but she was a very self-sufficient lady. She didn't often sound like she wanted to burst into tears.

_We saw the fireball, darlin'. You o.k.?_

_I-- yes, we're fine. _

Logan doubted that, but didn't argue.

Jean didn't seem to notice. _We've still got one helicopter following us. Can you be ready with a gate when we get there?_ The question was accompanied by an image.

Logan nodded despite the fact that Jean couldn't see him. _We'll be waitin'._

#-#-#-#

"There it is," Jean said, and Dana leaned forward so that she could see forward through the windshield. "It" appeared to be a big blue disk that someone had rolled out into the middle of the road. It shimmered oddly in the sun, and Dana spotted three people standing to either side. One, she was surprised to realize, was an Aborigine, complete with gray beard and loincloth, like the one that had met Remy and his friends after their escape from Turing-Rocheland. He held his arm out toward the disk as if he were holding on to it, but that was the only visible support Dana could see. She quickly glanced behind them to check on the other helicopter. It continued to pace them, but did not seem inclined to approach.

Dana looked forward again. They were rushing toward the disk at a fairly high speed for the narrow road, and Jean showed no signs of slowing. "What is it?" she asked.

"Our ticket home."

Dana gripped the back of the seat and braced herself for the impact as they plowed straight into the blue disk. She was only slightly surprised when there was no impact, only a nauseating twisting sensation that sent her stomach climbing into her throat. Then Jean was braking as she turned into a wide driveway . She pulled up to the tall, wrought iron gate and paused. After a moment, the gate began to swing inward and Jean drove through.

Dana looked back to see two of the three people walking up the drive behind them. The Aborigine was nowhere in sight. Nor was the strange blue disk they'd driven through, which Dana was beginning to think might have been some kind of projected image. It certainly hadn't had any substance. Something else nagged at her senses-- something that was missing. Then she realized what it was. The helicopter.

"The helicopter's gone," she told Jean.

Jean nodded. "Yes." They broke out of the trees and Dana was greeted with the sight of a rather impressive mansion. It was made of brick and had the smell of old money all about it.

"What happened to it?"

"Nothing. We left it behind."

Dana pondered that for a moment, but then they were pulling to a stop in front of the wide front steps leading up into the house. At that moment, people came spilling out of the house and Dana's thoughts snapped back to the wounded man beside her. Wherever they were, Jean expected to find friends here. Hopefully that meant that medical attention would not be far away.

"We need to get Remy to a hospital as soon as possible," she told Jean, who nodded.

"There's a fully equipped medlab here at the mansion." Jean opened her door and climbed out as the first of the wave of people reached the truck. One of them was a man wearing an odd-looking pair of yellow goggles, who swept Jean into a tight hug. Dana decided that must be Jean's husband. Jean pulled away from him after only a moment though, and turned to open the back door. Dana was already working to shift Remy closer to the edge of the seat as she did, and she felt Jean take hold of him telepathically and lift him out of the truck.

"What happened?" The man's voice was filled with dismay.

Jean just shook her head as she moved away from the truck. Dana scrambled to catch up, and found herself the sudden focus of attention. Most of the approaching people had gathered around them, including the two who had been walking up the driveway. Dana realized that she recognized the tall woman with the shock of white hair.

"Agent Scully?" Ororo said, her expression one of surprise.

The man with the goggles turned to Jean. "You brought her across?" The question was not accusing, but Dana found herself bristling anyway.

Jean didn't look at him as they started up the steps into the house. "I didn't have a choice." Dana wished she could take a moment to study her surroundings, but she had to move fast to keep up with her patient. The people surrounding her were striking as a group, more for their diversity than for any one person's exotic appearance, and Dana wished she could spare the attention to do more than glance at them.

"Not unless ya think she could've taken on an assault chopper by herself." A somewhat wild and hairy man had fallen in beside Dana. He was no taller than herself, and sported a truly impressive set of sideburns along with several days worth of beard. His voice was the gravelly scratch of a lifetime smoker, and his eyes were a piercing blue. He was watching the man with the goggles, but turned to Dana long enough to wink.

_Great. One of the good ole boys,_ Dana thought in mild irritation. _He's probably going to refer to me as a 'gal'._ As a medical doctor and an F.B.I agent, she found the "old-fashioned" male attitudes very tiresome. She shoved her thoughts away. Remy's condition was her first priority. She desperately hoped that this medlab was as advanced as Jean had implied.

A young blond man opened the door for Jean and held it as the whole group entered the house. He was handsome in a collegiate sort of way, but Dana didn't immediately see anything unusual about him, and she found herself wondering what strangeness might lie beneath that normal exterior.

The interior of the mansion lived up to her impression of the outside. The floors were lustrous hardwood, the ceilings vaulted. Dust motes danced in the sunlight falling through the tall front windows, and the sounds of their many feet echoed in the stentorian silence. Dana disliked it immediately, though her opinion improved as they moved out of the front room into a very comfortable den. The television was on with some kind of football game in progress, and there were drinks and mismatched bowls filled with popcorn scattered across various lamp and end tables. A pair of shoes lay in the middle of the floor, which Jean kicked out of the way as she went by.

As they reached a door on the far side of the room, a hand closed around Dana's arm. The short man's grip was surprisingly strong.

"I'm afraid you're gonna have ta wait here, darlin'."

In the process of maneuvering herself and Remy through the door, Jean paused and looked back at them. Dana stared at the man holding her in a mixture of anger and impatience. "I am a medical doctor," she explained curtly. "That man—"she waved at Remy, "is in desperate need of medical attention. So unless you have a very good reason to detain me, I suggest you let me go with him."

The man arched one eyebrow in surprise at her tone, and then glanced past her to his companions. Dana could tell from their expressions that there was a telepathic conversation in progress, and she wondered what secret these people held that they did not want to let her see. She was becoming used to secrets and conspiracies of silence, so she was a little surprised when the man with the goggles said, "Let her go, Logan. Hank is going to want to talk to her."

Dana filed the names away as Logan shrugged. "Sure thing, Cyke." He released Dana's arm and stepped back a half-pace, as if giving her room to continue. Dana turned and followed Jean as she puzzled over the name Logan had given the man with the goggles. Sike? Psyche? She could attach no useful meaning to it.

The room beyond the door was entirely unexpected. It was as cold and clinical as the den was cozy. It appeared to be a small lobby for an elevator. The floor was tiled with the standard removable squares that indicated to Dana that computer and electrical cables were probably run beneath the floor. Her steps sounded hollow on the white panels. The walls were metal, smooth and unmarked, as was the door of the elevator. Fortunately, not everyone followed them in. Only Jean, herself and the man with the goggles stood in front of the featureless door. Dana was relieved to be away from the press of strangers. She did not know what to make of these people and she wasn't entirely convinced they were friendly, despite how much she liked Jean.

The elevator slid silently open and Dana followed Jean inside. The man with the goggles pushed a button marked "Main", and they began to descend. It was the middle button of three. The top one read "Ground", which Dana took to mean the ground floor that they had just been on. The third button was marked "Hangar", which Dana thought was a bit odd. Did they keep aircraft underground? How did they take off? And just how extensive _was_ this complex? It was a good fifteen seconds until the elevator slowed to a stop, and judging from the force of the deceleration, it was not a slow elevator. She estimated that they had descended at least one hundred feet.

The door slid aside, revealing a wide hallway. Everything was metal, including the floors, which glowed subtly in the fluorescent lighting. Biting back her questions, Dana followed Jean down the hall to a set of double doors which were marked "Medlab" in large black letters. They pushed through the swinging doors into a suitably impressive medical suite. There were several beds, each surrounded by equipment both familiar and strange. Off to one side, she could see an observation window and a surgical theater beyond it. To the other side was a door marked "Laboratory". Everything seemed to be immaculate, and Dana's hopes rose.

Then a large blue... something walked out of the laboratory. Dana froze, torn between fascination and terror. It stood upright, and reminded her of nothing so much as some of the Yeti drawings she had seen, save that it was not seven feet tall, and was bright blue instead of white. It was dressed incongruously in a white lab coat, and had a pair of spectacles perched on its nose.

"Good, Jean. Put him there," the creature said, waving toward one of the empty tables. Then it launched itself toward them, crossing the distance in two terrific bounds and landing next to the table where Jean was just laying Remy down. Dana was frozen in place. On one hand, instinct told her that she should be drawing her weapon to defend herself from this fearsome beast, but on the other, both Jean and the man seemed completely unafraid and it _had_ spoken. In English. And now it was examining Remy with all appearances of competence.

Shaking herself into motion, Dana approached the table cautiously. She came up beside Jean, but could not help staring at the blue... creature? Man? It looked up at her, and Dana was surprised by how human the blue eyes seemed.

"Jean tells me you're a doctor." The voice was cultured but slightly slurred, as if the long fangs interfered with its speech.

Dana could only nod. Despite all of the bizarre things she had seen in her years with the X-Files, nothing had quite prepared her for a blue furry monster that acted like a medical professional. Had it been growling and slavering, or attacking her from the shadows, then she would have had some idea how to categorize it. But she didn't have the slightest clue what she should make of her present circumstance.

"How long ago did this happen?" The creature split its attention between Dana and Jean.

Dana found her voice. "Approximately twenty-four hours." For Remy's sake, she would have to take the practical approach and simply accept what she saw as being real and somehow rational. Solemnly she promised herself an explanation, later, when there was time to find it. "I'm Dana Scully," she added as she reached over to help the creature remove Remy's blood-caked shirt.

It glanced up at her and bared its teeth. She blanched, but then realized she was seeing a smile. "Where are my manners? I'm Dr. Hank McCoy," he answered.

Dana found herself nodding. _As long as a white rabbit with a pocket watch doesn't go running by, I think I can handle this_, she thought. Then, taking a deep, mental breath, she turned her attention to her patient.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Dana straightened unconsciously at Ororo's side as she stepped into the mansion's living room. It was filled to overflowing with people, and here and there Dana picked out a familiar face. The purple-haired Elizabeth was there, her distant, almost aloof demeanor unchanged from the last time they had met. She appeared to have acquired a large red tattoo across the right side of her face, and she stood with a man whose skin was, well, blue. Having met Dr. McCoy, Dana refused to make any judgment whatsoever about the source of his coloring. The woman Rogue was there as well, her expression quietly terrified as she clung to a tall white-haired man, and Jean stood beside her husband's chair, her fingers twined with his. The rest were mostly unfamiliar, but they were all staring at her with the same keen expectation.

Dana cleared her throat. "He came through the surgery very well, all things considered. We managed to stop the internal bleeding." It had taken them several hours to find all of the lacerations where bone fragments from Remy's broken ribs had pierced delicate tissues. "Unfortunately, there is still some concern about fluid buildup in his lungs which will require close observation for a while." She and Dr. McCoy would be watching him in shifts. Dr. McCoy had volunteered to take the first shift, leaving Dana with the responsibility for telling these people about Remy's status.

"Will he be all right?" That was from a stern-looking man in a wheelchair that Dana immediately recognized as the leader of the group.

"It's too early to say. His chances are good, though."

The man nodded. "Then we owe you our thanks, Agent Scully. Jean tells me that Remy would probably not still be with us were it not for you." Dana flushed and looked down, surprised by the man's sincerity.

"Why would somebody do such a thing?"

Dana looked up to find Rogue staring at her, a thin line of moisture tracing down each cheek.

She sighed and looked over at Jean. The answer was simple, but she did not think it would make the actions any more understandable. "These people are vicious and brutal," she told Rogue. "A few months ago they released a swarm of bees carrying a new and virulent form of smallpox on school children—just to test the delivery system." There were expressions of horror around the room, and Dana nodded solemnly. "Twenty-four children died."

In the silence following her statement, Elizabeth stepped forward. "Professor, I think this was simply a form of payback," she said to the man in the wheelchair.

The man cocked an eyebrow. "For something that happened before?"

She nodded. "You know how well Remy does with authority figures. This Cancer Man is used to everyone being afraid of him." She pursed her lips. "I was in favor of killing him, but Gambit embarrassed him instead." Several sharp looks were directed her way at the casual mention of killing, but she ignored them.

The man she had referred to as the Professor nodded. "Considering our previous encounter with these men, I am inclined to believe your assessment." He looked around at the assembly. "But there is nothing to be done about it at this time." His gaze rested meaningfully on Logan, then moved on to Rogue. Dana surmised that those two were the most likely to do something rash.

"Can ah see him?" Rogue turned back toward Dana.

She shook her head. "No, not yet. His immune system is already weakened. It would be a risk to expose him to additional people." To Rogue's disappointed expression, she added, "In a day or two, perhaps."

Rogue nodded and wrapped her arms more tightly about herself. The white-haired man placed a hand on her shoulder, and she glanced up at him briefly.

"Ororo." The Professor's voice interrupted Dana's curious observation of the couple. He had an amazing presence that commanded attention every time he spoke.

Ororo looked at him. "Yes, Charles?" Dana added the name to her growing list.

"Would you please show Agent Scully to one of the guest suites?" Dana glanced at him in surprise and was met with a small smile. "I'm sure you must be exhausted."

Dana had been pushing the ache away, until she had almost forgotten. But having suddenly been reminded, the last thirty-some hours seemed to settle on her shoulders like a lead weight. Her head hurt from the effort of keeping her mind clear and focused, and she was desperately thirsty. She nodded uncertainly. "Thank you."

Ororo gave her a sympathetic smile. "This way." She gestured for Dana to follow her.

Dana took a step in her direction, then paused. There was one question she needed an answer to, before she would be able to rest. She turned back to the Professor.

"Can I ask a question?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"Dr. McCoy... What is he?" She had worked beside him for six hours, determined to ignore the blatant strangeness in the interest of saving a life. She had a suspicion that she already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear these people admit to it.

The expressions around her varied from shocked and insulted to angry, but the Professor regarded her with stoic calmness. "He is a human being, Agent Scully. A mutant."

Dana nodded. "That's what I thought." And it confirmed her belief that the range of these mutations were even more staggering than she'd originally conceived.

"Ya got a problem with mutants?" Dana turned sharply, surprised by the menacing growl. Logan was staring at her, his fists balled and his curling lip exposing over-long canines.

It was the fangs that got her. Dana forcibly suppressed a burst of laughter, afraid it might come out in hysterical peals. Dr. McCoy had far more impressive teeth than this Logan, but was a much more pleasant person.

"Only rude ones," she told the snarling visage, and then deliberately turned her back on him and walked after Ororo.

#-#-#-#

Lilandra Neramani tapped her fingers against her lips as she stared at the tactical display before her. A troubled frown marred her expression.

"They are aware of us, Empress," commented Tachiel Nan. He was Warlord of the Shi'ar Imperium and commander of their armed forces, second only to Lilandra herself. He was the most capable soldier she knew, and she trusted his judgment implicitly.

Because of that, she continued to watch the slow maneuvering of the newly arrived Racth'zai ships for several minutes before she contradicted him. "I don't think so. I think they are preparing to assault the Earth."

Tachiel pointed to a cluster of numbered icons on the holographic display. Each icon on the display represented a ship or other large object in Earthspace, and most of the icons representing Racth'zai ships were arranged in similar clusters. "These are defensive formations, Empress."

Lilandra nodded. She had recognized that as well. "Yes, but they are turned toward Earth, I believe. They are not watching for attackers from outside this solar system."

Tachiel shook his head. "That makes no sense. Those gates of theirs resonate across galaxies—which is why we sent a ship to investigate in the first place. How could they not expect other species to notice?"

Lilandra didn't answer him. She wasn't yet ready to voice her private fears. Like all of her other advisors and commanders, Tachiel was thinking about these Racth'zai as if they were some lost remnant of the race that had nearly overwhelmed Chandilar so many centuries before. But Lilandra did not want to be that narrow minded. Historical record pointed to the galaxy from which the Racth'zai had sprung originally. The combined fleet that had been responsible for the extermination of their race had followed their path backwards until every planet that had been overcome by them had been seared into lifelessness. Lilandra knew how far the Racth'zai had traveled just to reach her own people. What frightened her was the fact that, in this other dimension, they had come to the Earth. She could draw no other conclusion except that they must have overcome each of the races on literally hundreds of inhabited planets that lay between Chandilar and here. Including the Shi'ar themselves.

#-#-#-#

Dana found a young man waiting outside her door when she opened it. He jumped away from the wall where he had been slouched and offered her a cheerful smile. He seemed young, eager, and entirely non-threatening. _Which is probably why he got the job of playing chaperone._ Dana had already gathered that she would not be allowed to wander around the lower levels without an escort.

"Good mornin'," the young man said. "Did ya sleep well?"

Dana regarded him in surprise, both for his sincere courtesy and his backwoods Kentucky accent. "Yes, thank you." She had slept soundly for ten hours until an insistent alarm dragged her back into consciousness. The alarm turned out to be connected to a complex computer system, and as soon as she turned the annoying noise off, she had been contacted by Dr. McCoy through an intercom. It was all a bit too Orwellian, in her opinion.

"Ah'm Sam Guthrie." The young man stuck out his hand.

Dana shook it obligingly. "Dana Scully."

"Nice ta meet ya. Are ya hungry? There's plenty of breakfast."

Quietly mulling the events of the past few days, Dana followed her guide to the kitchen. The rich aroma of coffee assaulted her nose as she entered, mixed with the scent of frying bacon and the babble of several conversations in progress. People looked up as she entered, but did not seem perturbed. The general riot in the kitchen continued unabated.

Ororo rose from her seat at the kitchen table to greet Dana warmly. As she did so, Dr. McCoy walked into the room. His gait was strongly ape-like, and Dana wondered if he could drop to all fours to move quickly.

He gave her one of his toothy smiles. "Ah, Dr. Scully, you're awake. Good."

"Dana, please." Now that she had adjusted to the idea that she was dealing with a very large, very blue monkey with a Ph.D. in biochemistry, she didn't see any reason to be so formal.

He nodded, as if pleased by her reaction. "Call me Hank. Have you eaten?"

"She arrived hardly a moment before you." Ororo chided gently and pulled a chair away from the table, gesturing to Dana.

Dana moved to take it, but continued to watch Hank. "How is Remy?" She was surprised to see him away from the medlab.

His good cheer wilted a little. "Unchanged. Jean is watching him for the moment. I wanted to get something to eat—and find you."

Dana's gut tightened instinctively. "Why?"

He frowned lightly and picked up a plate from the stack on the counter. "In all the excitement of your arrival yesterday, I forgot that we have some information about your partner that may shed some light on his whereabouts."

_His whereabouts?_ A cold hand gripped her heart. "What do you mean? Mulder is dead."

Hank paused in the process of transferring a handful of bacon slices to his plate. "Possibly. I'm afraid I can't give you any definite answers to that. But I do think I can postulate a theory about what happened to him."

Dana stared at him in dismay. Mulder was dead. She'd made the ID herself. She'd gone to the funeral and laid flowers on his coffin. He was dead.

Hank's bushy brow creased in concern. "Perhaps I should show you."

Dana only nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Hank led her down to the medlab, and then off into one of the areas she hadn't seen. She stopped short in the doorway, staring at the body laid out on a high-tech examining table. She turned to Hank.

"I don't understand."

He smiled briefly and laid a hand on her elbow. "Don't worry. This isn't your partner." He drew her toward the table.

Dana didn't resist. Her thoughts tumbled around inside her head in a dizzying montage as she stared at the lifeless face of the man on the table. It was painful to stand there.

Finally, she forced her gaze away from the dead man. "If this isn't Mulder, who is he?"

"Not who. What."

She gave him a baffled glance. "What?"

Hank nodded and moved to turn on the screen of a nearby computer. "This isn't actually a human being, despite its appearance. It's a SHIELD decoy." He waved to the screen, where a familiar image of tissue cells was displayed. "A construct made of real tissue. A clone, if you will."

Dana's horror at seeing Mulder laid out on the table like that was quickly giving way to curiosity. She bent down to look more closely at the computer. "This is very advanced. I thought that cloning entire human bodies was still several years away."

Hank made a noncommittal sound. "Well, I think the greater question is why someone felt the need to leave this decoy at the crash site."

Dana froze as she remembered what Jean and Remy had told her, and the chain of reasoning fell into place in her head. Why would someone leave this... clone of Mulder at a remote crash site unless they thought that whoever found the wreckage would expect to find him there as well? But why would anyone think that?

She straightened slowly and stared at Hank. Why would anyone think that... unless Mulder was on the plane when it crashed?


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Dana quietly set the file she had been reading down on the desk and tipped her head back, stretching the tired neck muscles. She rubbed the base of her skull, where a headache was threatening to start, then straightened with a sigh. She glanced to her left, through a large plate glass window that gave her a clear view of the infirmary. Remy was still there, unconscious, as he had been since they'd brought him in five days before. Dana wasn't quite ready to be concerned by that. He was continuing to improve—more rapidly than she was expecting, in fact, though how much of that was due to the advanced medical technology and how much to Remy's unique physiology, she had no idea.

Dana fingered the sheaf of papers before her thoughtfully. These people seemed entirely willing to share information with her, and still, she could sense that there was so much that she didn't yet know and that no one seemed willing to explain. Even Jean was, at times, politely resistant to Dana's requests for an explanation for various things. And then there was Hank McCoy, who was quietly driving her batty with his long-winded explanations, which, while fascinating, never told her exactly what she wanted to know. Take the infirmary, for example. Some of the technology was downright astounding. Their ability to clone living tissue, including blood, was years beyond what she had seen and read about. Hank had provided her with a set of schematics and a detailed text describing the process, which he said he had written for his own reference. He had explained to her that the equipment was "Shi'ar technology", but then had flatly refused to explain what "Shi'ar" was. It was frustrating.

Dana pushed herself away from the desk and stood, wincing as she stretched. She wasn't willing to refer to it as "her" desk or "her" office, but that was effectively what the little room was. As soon as she had started asking Dr. McCoy for information, beginning with Remy's medical history, the whole household had seemed suddenly determined to give her a private workspace. They had brought in a desk and chair, computer, lamp, files and just about everything else she could possibly want. The sight of Rogue carting in the steel desk with the awkward ease of someone carrying a large empty cardboard box had brought home forcibly to Dana just how strange these people were. She had cursory files on all of them now, which gave her a good idea of what their mutations were. Much of what she read she found too fantastic to believe, and yet, all she had to do was ask for a demonstration to see that it was true.

She walked to the door and stepped out into the infirmary proper. It was about time to check on her patient anyway, and she needed to work out the kinks a bit. She crossed to the one occupied bed and checked the large flatscreen display above the head. Vital signs were nearly normal, as was the trace showing brain activity. Dana reached over to touch the screen, bringing up a new window with additional information. She could have done the same thing from her desk, but she found it somehow more appropriate this way.

"...Scully?"

Dana glanced down in surprise. Remy's eyes were open, their strange and intimidating color at odds with the confusion written there.

"Good morning," she said automatically, then quickly checked her watch to make sure. It was hard to keep track of time in the underground laboratory.

Remy blinked rapidly and started to sit up. "Where...?"

Gently but firmly, Dana pushed him back onto the bed. "Lie down. You're at the Xavier Institute."

He relaxed somewhat at that, sinking back against the pillows. Dana picked up the specialized red penlight that was supposed to be easier on his sensitive eyes, and began a cursory exam. "Can you tell me your name?" she asked. That was always the first question.

"Remy... LeBeau." His breathing was shallow, pained, but he watched her alertly.

Dana touched the screen over his head, calling up the names and dosages of the drugs currently being fed into his I.V. Almost all of them were either much less or much greater than she would expect for a "normal" man of Remy's age and weight. But, as Hank had explained, that was the usual for mutants. Most of the time, their mutations changed their physiology drastically enough to alter their responses to various pharmaceuticals. Unfortunately, Remy was extremely susceptible to narcotics, which meant that most serious pain medications made him delusional.

"How... long have I been out? What happened? Jean--?" He started to sit up again, and Dana again caught him and pushed him back onto the bed. She was somewhat annoyed by how quickly he was trying to get up. He could very easily rip open his sutures and undo most of the work she and Dr. McCoy had done. She suppressed a smile at her own reaction. Having to deal with the patients was her number two reason for not practicing medicine.

"Jean is fine," she told him, figuring that that was probably the most important answer. "And you've been unconscious for approximately five days." Dana straightened and crossed her arms, watching warily as he digested the elapsed time. Fortunately, the answers seemed to satisfy him. He didn't seem inclined to try to get up again. That suited Dana. She didn't feel like trying to fight him, and Hank had warned her that, once awake, Remy would stay in the infirmary exactly as long as it was physically impossible for him to leave.

"I'm going to see if I can find Dr. McCoy," she told him. "He said that he was going to someplace called the Danger Room." Although the name sounded suspiciously like a dance club, she sincerely doubted that that was what it was. Hank didn't seem the type, blue fur notwithstanding. "I'll have to call Professor Xavier to get the number."

Remy gave her a quizzical look. "Didn' anybody give y' a combadge?"

_Combadge?_ "No."

He frowned. "Figures. Scottie gets paranoid 'bout security."

"I noticed," she commented dryly. She was no longer personally escorted to and from the medlab each day, but on her one exploration of the underground complex, she had discovered that the featureless metal doors would not open for her. She had encountered Ororo in the hall almost immediately, effectively ending her excursion, and she still wasn't certain if it had been a chance meeting or not. Somehow, she doubted it.

Remy didn't smile, but she caught the flash of humor in his eyes. "Did dey show y' de computer system?"

Dana nodded and gestured toward the office behind her. "There's a terminal back there."

He rolled his eyes, though she noticed that he was very careful not to move his body. "Nevermind. I'll do it m'self." He raised his voice slightly, though even that wasn't much. "Cerebro, where's Hank?"

Dana glanced around involuntarily.

"Mutant designate: Beast is in the Danger Room." Professor Xavier's voice seemed to materialize out of the air around them. Dana cocked an eyebrow in silent question.

"Professor gave de computer his voice. Cute, neh?"

"That was a computer?" The voice hadn't sounded digital at all.

Remy didn't answer, but Dana didn't really need him to. His silence was assent enough. And why had the computer called Hank "Beast"? It struck her as being highly prejudicial.

"Cerebro, voice link t' Beast." He closed his eyes, and Dana could tell that he was quickly becoming exhausted.

"You don't have to do this—"she began when the computer interrupted her.

"Communication status: Unavailable due to Danger Room safety level exceedance. Override status?"

Dana pondered that pronouncement curiously while Remy uttered a faint "Oui." Apparently, the computer also understood French, and after a short pause, she heard Hank McCoy's voice.

"Beast here." There was a note of curiosity in his voice. He also sounded out of breath, which left Dana wondering even more about that "safety level exceedance".

Remy gave her a flickering grin. "'Parently somebody forgot t' give Agent Scully a combadge, Hank."

Dana couldn't help but smile at the moment of surprised silence on the other end of the connection. Then, in the distance behind Hank she heard a female shriek of "Remy!" Rogue's voice immediately cut into the communication channel. "Remy? Is that you?"

His grin deepened. "'Lo, chere. Did y' miss me?"

Dana ducked her head, trying not to laugh. For the last three days—ever since she'd been allowed into the infirmary—Rogue had fussed over him with a bizarre combination of fierce protectiveness and schoolgirl uncertainty. Dana had quickly discovered that Hank was far more successful than herself in shooing the hovering young woman out of the way, and Dana wondered if that was because she was a stranger at the mansion, or simply because she was a woman.

"Sugah, ya just stay right there. Ah'm on mah way!" Dana heard laughter in the background. It conjured visions of Rogue, rushing out of wherever she was in a flurry of excitement.

"I daresay Rogue will arrive before me." Hank's voice, too, was full of amusement. "Doctor Scully?"

"I'm here," Dana replied. Remy had closed his eyes once again, apparently resting. A faint shadow of his smile remained in place.

"Do you think you can make them behave until I arrive?"

Dana glanced at Remy, only to discover that the lines of pain in his face had smoothed out and his breathing had become calm, steady. She felt an odd stab of affection for the man who now slept peacefully before her, and smiled. "I think I can manage that."

#-#-#-#

Charles suppressed a weary sigh as he leaned back in his chair. It was a conventional wheelchair—far less comfortable than his hoverchair—but seemed like the most prudent choice for the nonce. Dana Scully's time and attention had been almost completely taken up with Gambit since she'd arrived, and it had seemed unwise to try to explain the whole truth to her while so much else was occupying her mind. She was well aware that they were hiding things from her, but she was willing to wait until Remy's condition improved before pursuing the answers. Charles had been pleasantly surprised by their unexpected visitor. She was intelligent, observant, and, most importantly, objective. The X-Men strained her credulity, and yet she accepted what she saw without prejudice. Her experience was untainted by the moral, philosophical and political conflicts that raged around the existence of mutants. In this world, that made her unique in her utterly unbiased view. Very soon, it would be time to start showing her the world beyond the mansion. Charles found himself almost looking forward to it.

An electronic chime interrupted his thoughts. Cerebro was signaling an incoming call, and the tone indicated that it was coming from off planet. Charles smiled. That would most likely be Lilandra. Despite the circumstances that had brought her to Earth, and the fact that she needed to spend most of her time on her cloaked ship, they had managed to find some small time together.

Lilandra's image materialized before him, somehow solid despite its translucence. She smiled in greeting, but that did not erase the deep concern in her eyes.

"Lilandra? What's wrong?" he asked.

Her smile faded. "I am downloading our current information about the location of Racth'zai ships in Earth space for you, Charles. They're beginning to spread out their picket lines, and we will be discovered soon if we do not leave."

Charles stared at her in alarm. He knew this alien race was gathering ships around Earth, as yet undetected by anyone on the planet, as far as he knew. But Lilandra's expression implied that the situation was far more desperate than he'd believed.

Lilandra shifted her grip on her staff. "I am going back to Chandilar to raise the fleet. These creatures are a threat to us all, though I don't know if I will be able to convince others of that."

Charles felt a small measure of relief. "When will you be back?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I am the Empress, but mine is not the only voice that must be heard." She paused, her face settling into grim lines. "I must tell you this, Charles. I won't set my people against the Racth'zai until I am certain we will eradicate them. We have been studying their ships, and they are highly advanced. It will take time to gather what we need to oppose them."

Charles understood what she was saying, but that didn't keep his stomach from knotting up into a cold, hard ball. "And until then?"

She looked at him sadly. "Until then, we must remain invisible or they will be waiting for us when we return. I promise you, Charles, we will return as soon as we can." Her image flickered, and she raised a hand. "Goodbye, my love."

Lilandra dissolved into static and was gone. Charles stared at the place where she had been and fought the desire to feel betrayed. Lilandra was doing what was best for her people, for the untold billions that populated a hundred planets in a far distant portion of space. Sacrificing one planet to buy the time the Shi'ar Empire needed to defend itself was a sad but acceptable cost from that perspective. The only problem, in Charles' view, was that it happened to be _his_ planet.

Charles pressed his lips into a thin line. "Cerebro, open all comlinks." He was taking a slight risk by including their resident F.B.I. agent so precipitously, but the time for subtlety had just passed. It was time to make the Racth'zai threat public.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Dana sat a short ways off to the side, content to remain nearly invisible as she watched the growing collection of people in the room. Professor Xavier had referred to it as the "War Room", which she found to be an apt description. A large, oval conference table dominated the main floor. It was capable of seating a good eighteen or twenty people around it, and all of those chairs were now occupied. Others either stood behind the chairs or had taken up positions on the balcony that ran around nearly three quarters of the room. The fourth quarter was taken up with a giant projection screen. It appeared to be a single flat screen display, which Dana found rather astounding. The amount of power alone needed to run it must be huge. Currently, the face of a severe-looking red-haired woman was displayed, larger-than-life, on the screen.

The conference table's surface was slick and black, and now held a display of its own. It was some kind of 3D tactical display which showed Earth with the moon in an appropriate location. Mixed in with the two spherical bodies were dozens of small symbols of various shapes, sizes and colors. Dana didn't know what those were, though the blue ones, which congregated near the equator, she believed to be commercial satellites. However, if the rest of the dots also represented satellites, then the militaries of the world had a lot more intelligence capability than anyone suspected. There was a veritable cloud around the Earth and, as she watched, the images flickered and shifted slightly.

Dana felt thoroughly out of place, as well as somewhat overdressed. The men and women gathered around the table were, almost without exception, wearing heavy spandex jumpsuits in a riotous variety of colors and styles. They were surprisingly young to be soldiers, and that was the impression she was beginning to get. Only two men she could see were obviously older than Professor Xavier, and a fair number of the others were still in their teens. She was trying not to stare at the physical mutations, but several people continually drew her eyes. There was a man that was simply... huge. He was something like fourteen feet tall and perhaps twelve hundred pounds. He hunched down in a corner, trying unsuccessfully to cram his bulk in beneath the balcony supports. There was a woman who was covered in brown fur, who stood upright, but seemed a bit more feral than Hank McCoy. There was also another man with bright blue fur, but he was far smaller than Hank, with three-fingered hands and a long, prehensile tail that ended in a spade-shaped tuft. Warren Worthington's wings were partially unfurled, surrounding him like a cloak of white feathers. He reminded Dana of a painting she'd seen of the archangel Gabriel.

_Dana?_

Dana looked around and spied Jean at the table. She was seated beside her husband and dressed as strangely as the rest.

_I'm here._ She had a dozen questions about who all of these people were and where they'd come from. The ones she'd seen arriving had come up from the hangar level rather than coming in through the front door. But she forbade asking, in part because she couldn't sort out what to ask first.

Jean caught her eye and smiled. _Professor Xavier will be doing most of the speaking, so I should be able to answer questions for you as we go along. I'm afraid we're dumping you into the middle of things pretty abruptly._

_What kind of 'things'?_ Dana couldn't help the suspicion in her voice. She was pretty certain Jean knew that she knew they'd been keeping things from her. Now, it sounded like Jean was offering to expose all of those hidden things. But in Dana's experience, finding the truth was never that easy.

Jean's expression became solemn. _A war, unless we can somehow come up with a miracle._ She glanced at Professor Xavier. _But that can wait a moment. Tell me, Dana, do you know anything about alternate realities?_

Dana was startled by the sudden change of topic. _Alternate realities? I know something about the theory—I did my Master's thesis on the subject. Why?_

Jean seemed both surprised and pleased. _Really? I had no idea. What did you decide in your research? Are alternate realities possible?_

Dana weighed her answer carefully. Jean sounded too eager for her answer. _Theoretically. But there has never been any physical evidence to support that conclusion. In fact, we don't yet have the technology it would require to make that kind of experiment._

Jean was silent for a few moments, her expression thoughtful. _Then, Have you been wondering how all of us,_ and she nodded toward the room at large, _can exist without you or anyone in your government knowing about it?_

Dana frowned as she mulled the question. She had been wondering that, though only as a nagging concern in the back of her mind. If there had only been one or two of these exceptional mutations, she could have believed that they had hidden themselves from government notice. But now, as more and more mutants continued to pour into the War Room, she found it almost impossible to believe that this secret could be kept. The physical evidence was simply overwhelming. But that led to the conclusion that the government must know about these mutants, yet was allowing them to move freely about, and that did not fit with anything she had seen in her years on the X-files.

The beginning of their conversation came back to Dana, and she turned a disbelieving stare on Jean. _Are you suggesting that this is an alternate universe of some kind?_

Jean smiled. _Yes, I am._

Dana turned to scan the room again, her thoughts whirling. Could she really, rationally, believe that she was on an alternate Earth? It was a scientific plausibility—that she accepted. But the chance of such a thing actually occurring was so... remote that it became a practical impossibility. And yet, what other explanation was there? The evidence did not support the idea that her government was simply allowing these people to roam the country freely.

She could be in the thrall of a psychotic episode, possibly. The sudden thought was both amusing and somewhat frightening. Still, the psychological and emotional impact of the last two weeks couldn't be dismissed. She could be subconsciously creating a delusion in which it was possible that Mulder was still alive, as a mechanism for dealing with her grief. She could, in fact, still be in her apartment, with all of the events from Remy and Jean knocking on her door until now happening entirely inside her mind. From her current vantage, of course, it didn't seem likely, and was inherently unprovable anyway. She smiled at her own subjectiveness. Besides, she didn't _feel_ crazy.

So what was left? That Jean was telling the truth? That she had somehow stumbled on what could easily be the most significant scientific discovery of the century?

"Thank you all for coming so quickly. I know you must be wondering what has happened." Professor Xavier's voice interrupted her thoughts. She was surprised by how quickly the room grew silent.

"As you've no doubt observed, we have some visitors." He motioned toward the 3D display of the Earth.

_Visitors?_ Dana thought. She didn't like the implication that sprang to mind at all.

"Where is your data coming from?" The gruff question came from the oldest member of the group. He was obviously a long-time soldier, with a star-shaped tattoo around one eye and a very advanced prosthetic arm made of metal. He was one of only a very few who were obviously armed, though the monstrous rifle slung across his back looked like something out of a Star Wars movie rather than a real weapon.

"A Shi'ar scoutship that was hidden in orbit until just recently left us a cloaked transmitter piggybacked onto a commercial satellite."

Dana heard the words, but their meaning didn't sink in until a moment later. _A Shi'ar scoutship...?_ She turned to Jean, who nodded slowly.

_I told you we were dropping a lot on you in a very short time._

_You are talking about a... spaceship?_

_Yes. The Shi'ar are an alien race that we've had contact with for the past few years._ Her reply was so matter-of-fact that Dana found herself at a loss for words. _But,_ a quiet voice in the back of her mind asked, _if this is an alternate universe, couldn't there be aliens in it?_ She stifled a sudden desire to laugh. It was all so fantastically unbelievable that she just didn't know what to think. Feeling slightly giddy, Dana crossed her arms and settled back in her chair.

"There are a total of twenty-two ships currently in orbit," Professor Xavier said. "They belong to a race called the Racth'zai." He folded his hands in his lap. "Interestingly enough, this race has been extinct in our universe for more than three centuries. The beings now circling our planet have come through an interdimensional gate from another universe entirely."

Dana sat forward abruptly. _Another universe?_ She stared at Jean in burgeoning outrage. _You aren't going to try to tell me that these... _aliens_... are from—_

_Your universe?_ Jean arched one eyebrow. _I'm afraid so._

"For those of you who heard about Rogue's disappearance last summer," Xavier nodded toward the young woman, "this is the universe she was transported to. Unfortunately, in our search for her, we managed to draw the attention of the Racth'zai who, we believe, are primarily interested in cloning mutant genes and combining them with their own to create a hybrid race. This appears to be a kind of forced evolution of their species."

Unbidden memories flashed through Dana's mind. Every time Mulder had been convinced they were on the trail of discovering the truth about alien contact, they ran into whispers of genetic experiments and cloning. To hear those concepts run together so easily now was unnerving.

"We believe that this race has made some kind of contact with the American government and perhaps several others in an attempt to gain the genetic material they want without revealing their presence." He gestured in Dana's direction. "From what little we know about their modus operandi, I find it highly probable that they have succeeded." Concerned, thoughtful and even angry frowns decorated the faces around the room.

"Charles, f'r certain there's little love lost between mutants an' the world governments, but I am nae sure I believe they would dare t' do such a thing." The woman on the screen spoke with a thick Scottish accent that did nothing to blunt the severity of her demeanor.

"Not on a large scale," Charles agreed. "But with the current political climate, that day might not be too far off."

"If ya ask me, that day's already here." Logan reclined in his chair, legs outstretched, but the expression in his eyes belied his casual posture. "Every one a' us knows that mutants go into government custody an' sometimes don't come out again."

"An' ye truly believe the government's selling them to an alien race f'r genetic experiments?" The woman on the screen was disbelieving. "That would nae be any different from selling them to Sinister."

The temperature in the room plummeted at her words. The gathered mutants all stared at each other in muted horror. Dana had become familiar enough with their odd jargon to realize that Sinister was a person. She had met a few mad scientists in her time, so it was not hard to envision an apparent geneticist who would call himself "Sinister". But the image she conjured was chilling.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, until a Native American man cleared his throat. He, too, wore one of the advanced prostheses—in this case, a leg. "What do you suggest we do, Charles?" His voice was surprisingly calm, and held a richness that spoke of the wisdom of a spiritual man. Dana found herself liking him immediately.

Charles steepled his hands on the top of the futuristic yellow wheelchair he'd produced for the meeting. Dana hadn't yet decided what kind of hover technology it was using. "That is one of the things I am hoping we will decide today. For the moment, the Racth'zai operate in secret with the cooperation of some parts of our governments. However, the Shi'ar have analyzed the disposal of their ships in orbit and have concluded that they are preparing to attack us. Lilandra has already returned to Chandilar to raise the Imperial fleet, but she is uncertain how long it will be until they return."

Even Dana was startled, and she heard the collective intake of breath of the people around her. Charles simply nodded. "Yes. Now, we have always been able to counter these kinds of invasions in the past—including both the Phalanx and the Brood—but I am afraid that this situation will be different. After talking with Lilandra, I don't believe the Racth'zai have any interest in occupying Earth. Our Earth." He glanced at Dana. "Lilandra pointed out that for the Racth'zai to have reached Earth in their home dimension, they must have gone through all of the races between their point of origin and Earth. Her speculation is that they successfully incorporated those races into their own, thereby destroying them. So, in their own dimension, there are few or no technically advanced species left to challenge them in this portion of the universe."

The small blue man with the tail sat forward. "So you think they are planning a blitzkrieg, Herr Professor?" His tail lashed back and forth beneath his chair.

Charles' expression was grim. "That is my guess. I think they will try to strip as much as they can from our Earth and retreat to their own dimension before the Shi'ar and their allies arrive."

"So why all the sneakin' around up 'til now?" Rogue's Southern drawl sounded oddly out of place among the other speakers' more cultured accents.

A man standing at the far end of the table shrugged. He was unshaven, dressed in a long black duster, and reminded Dana of Remy for some strange reason. "Well, as Gambit would say, it's easier t' steal something than t' fight for it."

The comment earned him a round of dirty looks, and Dana was fairly sure she saw a young woman at the end of the table kick him lightly in the shins.

"Ach, man," the woman on the screen sent him a withering stare. "Haven't ye ever heard a' the word 'tact'?" She shifted her attention to Charles. "How is Remy?"

Dana kept her surprise to herself. So Remy was also called "Gambit", apparently. Just like Hank was referred to as "Beast." The conclusion she drew from that was rather funny.

_Do you people all have codenames?_ she asked Jean.

"He is recovering," Charles answered the woman on the screen. Dana saw a few expressions around the room shade into relief. She got the impression that Remy drew some rather mixed reactions from these mutants. That didn't surprise her. She hadn't liked him much herself on their first encounter.

Jean caught her eye and smiled. _Yes, we each have a codename._ Her expression hinted that she understood how silly it sounded.

_Including you?_

Jean's smile deepened. _My codename is Phoenix._

_Is that because of your hair?_ Jean had one of the most beautiful manes of red hair Dana had ever seen. It gave her a twinge of jealousy at times. Dana's hair was a similar color, but she had never had the patience to maintain that kind of luxuriant style.

Jean laughed inside her head. _No, but it's a very long story._

"Pete has a good point," Charles said, and Dana realized suddenly that her conversation with Jean had taken only a fraction of the time it would have taken to speak the words aloud. "The Racth'zai may very well hold off their attack for a while if their presence is not widely known."

Charles slowly scanned the room as Dana struggled to orient herself. She'd gotten distracted by her aside to Jean. "As I see it, we have three options." He ticked them off on the fingers of one hand.

"One, we can wait for the Shi'ar and hope that they will arrive swiftly, but otherwise do nothing." He smiled slightly at the unhappy muttering that broke out around the room.

"Two, we can go after the Racth'zai quietly. Most likely, our actions will be viewed as a nuisance at best and mutant terrorism at worst, but we would be less likely to spark a full scale assault on the Earth." He looked around the room as the tone of the low muttering of conversation changed, becoming more speculative.

"And three, we can make the Racth'zai presence public knowledge." Several heads turned sharply to look at him in surprise. "That would bring our armed forces into the picture and perhaps place the brunt of the responsibility for defending Earth on government agencies instead of on us. Considering the technologies that have been developed to deal with mutant threats, I think it is an option that bears consideration."

A young girl up on the balcony grinned and popped her gum. "Yeah, I like that. Sic the Sentinels on 'em."

The room exploded into a dozen conversations all at once. Dana couldn't separate the various discussions very well, particularly once she realized that several of them involved telepathy, but she did get the impression that opinions were strong and varied widely. Charles seemed content to let them talk it out. He sat back in his chair, watching the room.

Dana wondered what she should think. It was difficult enough to accept these people and their situation as reality—granted, an alternate one—and far more difficult to try to understand the consequences of the choices Professor Xavier had laid out before them. Dana turned what little she understood about them over in her head, wondering what _she_ would do. It was more of a mental exercise than anything else. In her heart she was not entirely convinced of what Jean had told her, but the scenario was fascinating and she found herself drawn into it. The second option seemed to her like the one they would choose, and she wondered, what would it be like to wage a silent war? To battle a little-known enemy with limited resources and the intention of keeping the general populace from ever knowing what was happening? She paused, stunned by the churning wave of emotions that swept through her at the thought. That was a very good description of what it felt like to work on the X-files. Never knowing if the enemy was the government, or aliens, or even if there was a real enemy at all. Never able to gather enough proof to know the truth, let alone expose it. Never able to tell people about the things she had seen and experienced because they wouldn't believe her.

A slow anger began to build inside Dana. She stood slowly, propelled by a conviction that she couldn't quite name. The mutants in the room noticed her in phases, their conversations dying off as they looked curiously at the stranger in their midst.

"My name is Dana Scully," she said quietly, her gaze sweeping the room. "I am a Federal agent from this other Earth you have been talking about." She wasn't exactly certain why she had decided to believe Jean's explanation, except that the reality of these people's situation touched a raw nerve inside her.

"For the last four years I have been involved in a project called the X-files. My partner and I were responsible for investigating unexplained phenomena." She took a breath, amazed at what she found herself saying. "I believe that on a number of occasions our investigation led us to this government conspiracy of cooperation with an alien race, though we have never been able to gain any real proof." She thought bitterly of the cancer in her head. No real proof.

"Professor Xavier is right. These people—the men in your governments—have every intention of selling out the human race for their own ends. I've seen some of what they have done." She remembered her sister Melissa, and her anger blossomed into tightly controlled fury that was reflected in her voice. "They kill with impunity, without either fear or remorse. They twist people's lives to suit their own needs. They violate every tenet of moral and ethical behavior—simply because they have that power. They live in shadows, terrified of being forced into the light where their inhuman actions will be exposed. Mulder—my partner—believed, and I do as well, that this secrecy, this impenetrable blanket of silence that surrounds their actions, is the only thing that allows them to continue." She looked around the room again, searching for any sign in these strange faces of understanding and agreement. "No matter what you choose to do, these people _must_ be exposed and held accountable for their actions."

The room was silent as Dana finished. She wondered suddenly if her outburst was appropriate, but then just as quickly decided that she didn't care. She turned to look at Charles and found him watching her with a thoughtful expression. But then he shifted his focus to the gathered mutants.

"I think this threat is far more imminent... and more dangerous than we believe. We must act."

The man with the star over his eye nodded and crossed his arms. "If even half of what she was projecting is true, then I don't think we have any choice." He stared at Dana until she began to feel uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny. What did he mean by "projecting"? she wondered.

_Cable is a telepath as well,_ Jean answered her unspoken question. _You were projecting your thoughts and emotions._

Dana felt a stab of something akin to terror. _I was?_

Jean nodded. _Non-telepaths who spend any significant amount of time around telepaths will develop psi shields that keep them from projecting most of what they think and feel. It's a kind of reflex. Don't worry, it shouldn't take you very long. Your mind has good structure._

Dana mulled that assessment as the men and women around returned to their debate. The various groups seemed to be divided on the best course, though Dana couldn't tell exactly who was in each camp. She was encouraged that the conflict was entirely about _what_ to do and not whether to do anything at all.

Finally, Charles raised his hands and the room quieted. "I would like to ask for a vote, by teams. What should we do?" He turned to the man Jean had named Cable. "X-Force?"

Cable's expression was grim. "War," he said tersely, and the clipped syllable sent a shiver down Dana's spine. "You can't win anything else."

Charles nodded and looked up at the woman on the screen. "Excalibur?"

The woman frowned and shook her head. "Nae, Charles. We cannae take the risk a' harmin' so many innocents. 'Tis mutants they want. Let them focus on us an' leave the rest a' the planet alone."

_One—one,_ Dana thought as Charles turned to the Native American man. "X-Factor?"

The man was silent for several long moments, but then sighed softly. "We will give the Racth'zai an overwhelming advantage if we allow them to remain invisible." His expression was sad but resolved. "We, too, vote war."

The room grew very still as Charles turned to Scott, and Dana realized that this must be the final vote. "X-Men?"

Scott rapped his knuckles gently on the table top, his brow furrowed over the red visor he wore. "We don't exactly have a history of cooperation with the government, which makes me wonder if we wouldn't be creating more problems than we'd be solving by bringing them into this." He gave the table a final tap and then laid his hand out flat on it. "But, I see one major flaw in trying to win this without any other support." He glanced up at the intent faces around him. "We mutants don't have the power to clean out the Racth'zai influence from any of our governments. Only the governments themselves can do that kind of housekeeping. I think that, if we want to drive the Racth'zai away from Earth entirely, we're going to have to take it public. If that means a full scale war—" he paused and frowned, "then we have no other choice."

Dana could feel the silent assent that filled the room. She was both gratified and frightened by the decision. These few people were going to change the course of their world, if anything she had heard today was true. It was the fulfillment of Mulder's dream, she realized in sudden amazement. The truth, exposed for the entire world to see and know. She thought back to the sliver of hope Hank had offered her that day in the medlab when he'd shown her a perfect replica of Mulder's body, and made herself a solemn promise. If it was possible in any way, she would make certain that Mulder got to see his dream.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Charles folded his hands carefully atop his hoverchair as the X-Men gathered around him stilled. They were all there this afternoon, waiting like himself for an even that could, quite possibly, change their lives forever. Even Gambit had insisted on joining them, though Hank had allowed it only after extracting a most solemn promise that Remy would not move from his chair without assistance.

Dana Scully was with them as well. She was seated next to Jean, and Charles was once again amazed by how easily she seemed to be integrating into their group. The X-Men were so tightly knit that the addition of any new person always seemed to cause a period of readjustment for the entire team. And Dana was not the kind of person Charles expected to be accepted so easily. Perhaps it was prejudicial to think that, because she was human and a government agent, she could not become an X-Man. But the ideals—and the idealism—that fueled the X-Men seemed to reside in her heart as well, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

Charles focused on the T.V. It was starting. The image was of a standard briefing room, brightly lit by the camera lights. Val Cooper stood behind the podium with the members of X-Factor arrayed behind her. Charles was cautiously pleased. The CNN commentator was going through some background information on the mutant group and some of their well-known actions, his presentation surprisingly unbiased.

_But perhaps his bosses just aren't sure which way to jump yet._ Once they knew what X-Factor had to say, their treatment of the group might degrade. Respect from the media was a rare thing for mutants.

Charles had been disappointed when the United Nations had refused X-Factor's request to speak to the combined representatives. That would have been a far better forum for this than a simple press conference. However, since the news that they'd made the request had leaked out the day before, there was a higher-than-normal interest from the media, which worked to their benefit.

Val Cooper raised a hand and the reporters quieted by degrees.

"I'm sure you're all eager to get started," she said as the flash bulbs began to go off. "So I won't waste any time."

"As you are no doubt aware, I—on behalf of the leaders of X-Factor—petitioned the United Nations for a hearing before their representatives. That petition has been refused, but the matter we wished to discuss with them is of such vital importance that we will make our appeal this way."

Charles nodded in unconscious encouragement. Val had them already. Her calm demeanor and grave voice had the attention of everyone in the room riveted to her.

"Can we dim the lights?" she asked someone off camera. The bright lights that illuminated her winked out as she picked up a remote from the podium and pressed a button. The screen behind and to one side of her was immediately lit with a still image from the Shi'ar transmitter. A three-dimensional line drawing of the Earth was surrounded by a cloud of symbols that Charles had recently become very familiar with. They had debated removing the military satellites from the image, but then decided that their presence would lend credibility to their claims once the picture was analyzed.

Val glanced back at the screen then returned her attention to her audience. "This information is approximately twenty-four hours old. As you can see, we have company." She picked up a red light pen and aimed the pinpoint beam at the screen. "These yellow and green symbols are satellites currently in orbit." She moved the pointer across several of the icons. "These scattered groups are primarily GPS and NAVSTAR, along with classified military satellites." A murmur of surprise ran through the assembled reporters, which Val blithely ignored as she indicated a larger blue icon. "The Mir space station. And over there," she tapped a second blue icon, "Earth OP 1."

"What are the red ones?" asked a voice from the crowd.

A smile flickered across Val's face at the opportune question. "That," she answered, "is why we're here."

The murmur in the room intensified as the flash bulbs went off in brilliant staccato. Val waited quietly, her hands folded on the podium, until the reporters grew silent.

"The red icons," she said into the stillness, "are ships currently parked in orbit around Earth."

"What kind of ships?"

"Where did they come from?"

"Are they dangerous?"

"Who do they belong to?"

Val waited for the babble of excited questions to die away before answering. "We don't know for certain."

Charles glanced over at Dana, curious to see her response. The argument over whether to give out details of the Racth'zai had raged for several hours after the decision to announce had been made. Surprisingly, the F.B.I agent had come down solidly behind Valerie on that score, maintaining that giving out that kind of detailed information at this stage would do more harm than good.

Dana was nodding unconsciously, her lips slightly pursed as she concentrated on the press conference.

"Excuse me, Ms. Cooper," the familiar voice of one of Charles' least favorite reporters brought his attention back to the TV. "Are you trying to tell us that there are _aliens_ up there?"

Val's lips thinned slightly. "It's possible," she told him. "We don't know for certain just _what_ is up there."

"Aw c'mon. Little green men?" Charles wondered if he was intentionally trying to antagonize her, or if he was just irritating by nature. "Isn't it more likely that this is some kind of new military anti-mutant weapon, and you and your _friends_ are just trying to blow smoke while you try to take them out?"

To her credit, Val didn't react, though behind her Lorna's eyes narrowed to angry slits. The gathered reporters muttered speculatively as Val considered her reply.

"The mutant community is offering _cooperation_, Mr. Talon." She spoke slowly, as if she were uncertain of his ability to grasp the concept. Then she turned her attention to the room at large.

"These visitors, whoever they are and whatever their intentions, are a matter best addressed by the governments of Earth. The members of X-Factor have already volunteered their abilities in support of whatever course of action is chosen by the authorities, and we have sent requests to both the Avengers and Excalibur asking for their cooperation as well."

"That seems a little premature, doesn't it?" asked a woman in the front row. "Or is there more that you're not telling us?"

Charles frowned. That was a dangerous question, but Val didn't seem perturbed. "I don't know anything more than what I've shown you. I wish I did. Then, we might have some idea whether our visitors are friendly or not."

That sparked a new round of babble, and a whole host of repetitive questions that were tossed at Val. Charles tuned it out after a moment. Val had said everything they'd agreed she would, and didn't seem to be having any trouble pleading ignorance on the rest of it. All that remained to be seen was how the governments would respond.

The X-Men stirred and began to move around as Val made a few final comments and stepped away from the podium.

"So much for the easy part," Scott commented, his thoughts obviously running parallel to Charles'.

"Indeed." Charles kept part of his mind on Scott, but his gaze tracked Dana as she walked over to check on Remy. The slight doctor settled into a comfortable crouch next to his chair, then reached up to lay her hand against his cheek. Apparently satisfied, she nodded and began asking him a set of generic how-do-you-feel questions that Remy answered with unusual tolerance.

Charles hadn't mentioned his concerns to anyone yet, but he was increasingly distraught by the young man's amiability. On the surface, everything seemed to be going well. He was healing rapidly, to the point that Hank had begun counting down the remaining days that he believed he would be able to keep him in the infirmary. But, though his outward behavior was the same as always, the expression in his eyes had grown very hard. It was an understandable reaction to torture, but Charles was left wondering what was now festering in the guarded places in his mind. And how bad the explosion was likely to be when he finally let it out.

Scott followed his gaze and frowned lightly. _He's not coping as well as he'd like us to believe, is he?_

_No, not really. _

Scott picked up his drink, the carefully casual motion betraying his unease more clearly than any expression. _Jean hasn't said much, but I think she's eating herself up with guilt._

Charles suppressed a sigh. That was another area of concern. _What did she tell you?_

_Only that they didn't have to let themselves be captured. Remy wanted to fight their way out and Jean talked him out of it._

Charles glanced briefly at Scott. He didn't want to make their silent conversation too obvious, but he needed to see the other man's face. _What do you think?_

Scott met his gaze, his determination clear even through the opaque red glasses. _Under most circumstances, it would have been the right call._

_And Jean had no way of knowing that this would be an exception._

_I know that. Jean knows that._ He shrugged minusculely. _It just doesn't change how she feels._

"What is that?" The sharp question jerked Charles' attention away from the psionic conversation. Dana was still crouched beside Remy's chair, but now she was staring at the television.

"It is a Sentinel," Ororo supplied from behind her.

Dana continued to stare at the screen, where file footage of the Sentinels program was being run as a backdrop to an ongoing conversation between commentators. "It's as big as a building." There was a faint note of protest in her voice.

"But not quite as smart." Grinning, Bobby dropped back into his seat on the couch, a plate bearing several pieces of pizza in his hand.

"The Sentinels program is one of several contingency plans that the U.S. government has developed to deal with the mutant threat, should it ever become necessary," Charles told her.

He was pleased when she didn't ask what the "mutant threat" was. "Have they ever been used?"

Around them, the X-Men traded looks. "On a few occasions," Charles replied cautiously.

Dana glanced around the room, absorbing the sudden atmosphere of things left unspoken. Then she turned back to Charles, one eyebrow cocked in an unmistakable request.

"Most o' the times we've tangled with the Sentinels, it's been because they were sent ta capture or kill us, darlin'." Logan stood behind the couch, his forearms resting on the padded back.

Curiosity and annoyance warred in her expression. "Why?"

Logan grinned. "Because we're the X-Men. Everybody from the C.I.A on down has orders ta arrest us on sight."

Dana's gaze circled the room as she digested that. She met Jean's eyes for a moment, and then her expression lightened with amusement. "I guess that explains the codenames and silly costumes."

There was a moment of startled silence, then Logan threw back his head and laughed, followed by several of the others.

Bobby grinned at her from the couch. "Welcome to the land of spandex."

#-#-#-#

It took only five hours to get a response. In that interval, Charles received no less than fourteen phone calls from various agencies, both governmental and media. In his public role as an expert on mutant relations, he was asked a wide variety of questions, none of which, thankfully, had anything to do with the possible source of the data Valerie had displayed. The television had been taken over by news coverage of the conference, interviews with every available public figure, and a host of wildly speculative theories as to who might be visiting Earth, and why.

"Charles, come quickly." Ororo leaned around the edge of the doorway. "The President is going to speak."

Charles' gut tightened in anticipation as he followed Ororo back to the den. Their timing was perfect, as the President was just stepping up behind the podium that bore his seal of office. He gripped the sides of the podium and focused on his audience. The room was silent except for the whir of camera lenses.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." He nodded toward the cameras, including the entire watching population with the gesture. "Today had certainly been a day of revelation." He straightened, and Charles was surprised by how tired the man looked. He didn't think it would be obvious to most, but a telepath was a master of reading body language, and the President's entire stance betrayed his tension.

"Today, perhaps for the first time, we, as a planet, have been faced with the possibility of a formal meeting with another sentient race. After Ms. Cooper's announcement earlier," he nodded toward Valerie, who stood to the side of the stage, "the first priority of not only the U.S., but also the other governments of Earth, was to verify the presence of these visitors."

Charles realized he was gripping the hand rails of his chair so tightly that his fingers were beginning to ache. He forced himself to let go and folded his hands in his lap.

"At four thirty-two p.m. Eastern Standard time, the first satellite with imaging capability moved into a position from which it could observe the orbiting vehicles. The Israeli government was kind enough to share those images with us, along with the other NATO nations. An hour later, Earth Orbiting Platform 1 was able to retract several of its solar arrays to provide the astronauts on board with a direct line of sight. Their observations have confirmed the images from the Israeli satellite." The President turned to look behind him as the projection screen lit with a photo image of the Earth as seen from low orbit. The haze of the atmosphere blurred the mixed blues, greens and brown, and beyond the curve of the planet, the stars were clearly visible. The only thing Charles could see that didn't seem right was that there was nothing else in the picture. Nowhere did he see a single orbiting vessel of any kind.

"As you can see," the President continued over the low murmuring of the gathered reporters, "there are no ships in orbit around Earth."


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The night sky was completely obscured by heavy clouds, but the darkness was so thick that the gray masses were invisible until the edges were lit by internal flashes of lightening. Wind gusted across the mansion grounds, the air uncommonly warm. It made the trees rustle and laid the long grass down with a sighing sound.

Dana ignored the fingers of air that pulled at her hair and clothing as she watched the gathering storm. The air had an electric quality, a sense of waiting wrath that fit her mood perfectly.

A shadow passed overhead, resolving itself into human form as Rogue settled to the ground beside her. Dana snorted softly and shook her head. It was still a bit surprising, but she was rapidly growing used to people flying, freezing, shooting lightning bolts and speaking to her inside her head. Rather than feeling awed, she was instead annoyed at the interruption. She'd come outside specifically to get away from the mansion's residents, and to get a handle on the anger that churned inside her.

"Ya all right, sugah?" Rogue's concerned expression was illuminated by a flash of lightning. The companion thunder cracked like a rifle shot across the sky.

Dana crossed her arms. "I am not a child." She glanced at Rogue. "I don't enjoy being treated like one."

"Nobody thinks that."

Dana felt a drop of water in her hair as a sporadic raindrop found her. She didn't have an immediate reply because she knew that Rogue spoke the truth. Dana had argued with Charles for almost an hour, and had lost simply because of the overwhelming logic. She looked up at the sky.

"Mulder might be up there."

Rogue followed her gaze. "Maybe, sugah. But we're not goin' up there ta go lookin' for him." She brushed her windblown hair away from her face. "Not now, anyway. This is gonna be a hit an' run operation."

Dana chewed on her lip as her frustration threatened to overflow once again. "I know that." But as much as she understood the reasons that the X-Men would not allow her to go with them, it didn't change how desperately she wanted to. She was afraid to look too closely at the reason she felt that way, but she knew that her heart demanded that she take every chance, follow every lead that might bring her to Mulder.

After a moment, she pushed the confusing emotions away. The decision was made. A fat raindrop struck her on the cheek and she grimaced.

"This is going to be some storm. Are you sure you'll be able to fly in it?" She hadn't yet seen the modified SR-71 the X-Men apparently operated, but the weather was steadily worsening. Pretty soon, no aircraft would be wise to venture into the air, but she knew they had been talking about using the storm to cover their flight.

Rogue smiled. "We'll be fine." She put her hands on her hips and looked up at the clouds. "Storm's done herself right proud."

Dana was momentarily confused, until she remembered that Ororo's code name was Storm. A jagged bolt of lightening streaked across the sky, branching into a dozen paths of brilliant light. Dana turned to Rogue.

"Ororo did this?" The awesome fury building in the blackened clouds seemed impossibly powerful for any human being to claim to control.

Rogue nodded. "Electrical storm'll hide Joseph's magnetic signature until we're well inta space." She sighed. "Unfortunately, it's gonna do some damage down here—breakin' tree branches an' bringin' down power lines an' such. But, it's takin' long enough ta build that hopefully folks'll have the sense ta find shelter before it really lets loose."

Dana chewed on the implications of that for a few minutes. What would it be like to be born with a power like Ororo's? How much damage could a single mutant do? The possibilities her imagination conjured were frightening.

She turned her thoughts back to Rogue's original comment. She'd walked out before the plans had been finalized, so she'd missed some of the details. "Can Joseph really lift an aircraft into orbit?"

Rogue's gaze unfocused for a moment, and Dana was suddenly aware that she had somehow touched a sensitive nerve.

"Rogue?"

The other woman shook herself and gave Dana a wan smile. "Sorry, sugah. It's just a lil' ironic is all."

"What is?"

Rogue shrugged. "Well, the last time we went inta space like this, it was because we were goin' after Magneto."

Dana waited a moment before prompting, "And Magneto is...?"

Rogue's smile turned rueful. "Ah guess ya wouldn't know, would ya? He's—he was, anyway-- a very powerful mutant with control over the Earth's magnetic field. He stole some nuclear missiles from a Russian sub he'd sunk a while earlier, an' was threatenin' ta use 'em if the humans didn't leave him alone. So the X-Men went after him on his space station ta make sure he didn't get the chance."

"A mutant terrorist?" Dana was suddenly overcome with an urge to find an encyclopedia of world events. The history of this alternate Earth had to be absolutely fascinating. "What happened?"

"The short version?" Rogue caught up her long hair in one hand to try to contain it as the wind whipped back and forth. "Magneto nearly killed Logan, an' the Professor was forced ta wipe his mind ta stop him. Then we barely made it back 'cause the Blackbird kept tryin' ta break up durin' re-entry. It took just about everything Jean had ta keep it together long enough ta get us on the ground."

A burst of rain blew into Dana's face and she shivered. "I think I've missed the irony." She wasn't sure she could even get her mind around the events Rogue described so blithely.

Rogue cocked her head. "Well, we're fairly certain that Joseph is Magneto." At Dana's expression of surprise, she smiled. "He's lost about twenty years an' all his memories, but the face an' the powers are the same."

Dana watched as Rogue turned back to the storm, her gaze once again distant. "Those were some scary times, sugah. We went ta Avalon knowin' that some o' us probably wouldn't be comin' back, an' afraid ta think about who it might be. For a couple a days there, it felt like the whole world could end in an instant—" She snapped her fingers. "An' now ah'm startin' ta get that same feelin' again." She sighed softly. "Makes me glad Remy's stayin' here this time."

Dana bit back a question. She was fairly certain that the last comment hadn't been meant to draw a response.

Rogue seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts, though. She glanced over at Dana, her mouth turned upward and hinting at wicked humor. "Man's got more guts than brains. Someday mah stripe's gonna go gray from worryin' 'bout him."

Dana couldn't help but return the smile. She could no longer count the times Mulder had gotten hurt in his various escapades. Not seriously, most of the time, but she could never completely suppress the twinge of worry she felt whenever he was out of sight. Of course, it had gone both ways, she reminded herself. At least, she hoped it had.

"Ya got somebody like that, Dana?" Rogue was watching her with patent curiosity.

Unaccountably, Dana flushed. She shook her head. "No. Not really. Not like—you two." Though the state of their relationship was somewhat questionable, the passion that sparked between them was unmistakable.

"Not even ya partner?"

"No! Of course not!" Dana was aware that her vehement response had just incriminated her in Rogue's eyes, and she wondered where the sudden burst of emotion had come from. Suddenly tired of the personal conversation, she sighed. "It wasn't like that."

But for some bizarre reason, it was important to her that Rogue understood, so she continued, "I guess I... loved him, in a way, but we were friends. Partners." She struggled to put her feelings into words. "It wasn't about passion." Unbidden, a memory returned to her, of the time she'd told Mulder that she would die for him. She'd meant it, and her emotions at the time had been so strong that she'd nearly screamed it at him. A little voice inside her whispered that, perhaps, it might have been more about passion than she wanted to believe.

"We didn't have a--a physical relationship." It came out as a protest, but she wasn't entirely sure if she was trying to convince Rogue or herself.

Rogue gave her a strangely knowing look. "That don't mean anything."

Part of Dana wanted to just stop the conversation right there. Examining her feelings was always a dangerous, confusing thing. She much preferred the dry dependability of fact and reason. But for the first time, she felt like she'd met women who understood her life—her pain, her dreams. And if there was any wisdom she could gain from them, perhaps it would make dealing with the confusion in her heart a little easier.

"So how can you tell the difference between love for a friend and..." she searched for a word, "...real love?"

Rogue laughed sourly. "Ah have no idea." She looked down at her feet, seeming suddenly abashed. "Me an' Remy have... kissed... exactly once."

Dana raised a skeptical eyebrow, which Rogue didn't notice. "Ah'd like ta kill him for it, but, since _ah_ kissed _him_—" She shrugged. "Ah can't." Then she raised her eyes to meet Dana's. "Probably _the_ single worst thing that's ever happened ta me, for reasons that'd take forever ta explain." She shoved her hands into the pockets of her short jacket. "Ah still love him, though. Ah'm just not quite sure _how_." She gave Dana a wry smile. "Ah guess that puts us in the same boat."

Dana was spared an answer as the skies opened up and poured the rain out over them. Dana was soaked before she could recover from the shock of the cold water. The torrent was so heavy that the mansion disappeared from sight, as did the trees and the more distant lake. There was something exhilarating about the rain, though, the tremendous power of the storm that now raged full force around them. She stared at Rogue, surprised by the sudden sense of kinship she felt with the other woman. It was a bond born not only of their candid conversation, but also of the bizarre circumstance that now had them standing in the midst of a downpour together, soaked to the bone and resembling a pair of drowned rats.

She found herself grinning as she shaded her eyes from the rain with one hand. "It looks like we could use that boat right about now."

Rogue spluttered with laughter and then looked down at herself. "Ah'd better get goin' or they'll leave without me. Cyke's gonna throw a fit about me drippin' all over his Blackbird, anyway." With a friendly wave, she rose into the air.

Dana lost sight of her almost immediately in the rain, and felt a pang of sorrow. If what Rogue had said was true, there was a chance it would be the last time she would see her. Or any of them.

Berating herself for her pessimism, Dana turned toward the house.

#-#-#-#

"Dey gone?"

Dana paused in the medlab's doorway, surprised by the sudden question. After a moment, she reached over and flipped on one of the sets of overhead lights, illuminating the room. "I thought you would be asleep."

Remy raised a hand to shield his eyes. "Didn' feel like it, I guess." He continued to watch her as she walked up to his bed, and Dana realized that he was still waiting for an answer.

"They left about twenty minutes ago." Dana had stopped by her room for dry clothes and a towel before coming down to check on her patient. "How are you feeling?"

"De usual."

Dana noted the dark circles beneath his eyes and the gray tone to his skin and decided that that was probably a lie. He was exhausted from that afternoon, which he'd spent in the den with the rest of the X-Men, and though it wasn't quite midnight, he was still awake.

"You should try to get some sleep." Dana was ready for some sleep herself after the eventful day, and she was perfectly healthy. "I'm going to lay down over there," she motioned to one of the empty beds. "So just yell if you need me." After some debate, Charles and Scott had elected to include Hank in their mission to provide the world with irrefutable proof of the Racth'zai's existence, which left Dana alone to take care of Remy. That was fine by her, but made her unwilling to be separated from her patient by a hundred feet of earth and metal.

Remy gave her a questioning look. "Y' not gon' wait t' see how t'ings go?"

She shook her head. "Charles said it would be several hours before they achieve proper orbit, and probably a while after that before we hear anything from them." The X-Men would be operating under strict communication silence to avoid detection before they were ready. "I was going to try to get some rest until then." Mostly because the waiting would kill her and sleeping seemed like the best way to quickly pass the time.

He made a noncommittal sound and reached over to the small table beside the bed to pick up a deck of cards lying there. He shuffled them easily and then pulled the lap table over and began laying them out in some kind of solitaire. "It gon' bother y' if I leave de light on?"

Dana watched him in consternation. He was still in a fair amount of pain and obviously exhausted, but he appeared determined to wait out the hours before they would hear from the X-Men. Intuition told Dana that he was deeply disturbed and she guessed that it was out of fear for his friends. Considering what he had suffered so recently, it wouldn't be surprising at all if he believed the same could easily happen to one of them also.

"I guess you'd rather be up there with them." She felt awkward making such an obvious comment, but it might do some good to get him to talk and she didn't know what else to say.

He didn't respond, but continued to lay out the playing cards with amazing precision.

Dana frowned when it became obvious that he was ignoring her. "Me too," she admitted quietly.

He looked up abruptly, expression hard, guarded. But then the expression disappeared and was replaced by something far milder. "Y' don' seem like de kind t' wan' t' go gallivantin' off into space, chere." There was even a note of teasing in his voice.

Dana gave him an appropriately sour look. The message from him was clear—Don't push, and don't dig too deep. So she kept her response light, though she was certain he understood that she didn't like the silent agreement they'd just made.

"I just want to find Mulder."

"Y' really t'ink he's still alive?" Remy went back to his cards and Dana was grateful not to have to meet his gaze. It was an innocent enough question, but carried tremendous significance for her.

"I... don't know. But I'm going to find out."

The silence stretched more comfortably between them this time, and Dana watched the unfamiliar version of solitaire with mild interest. Remy paused in the middle of laying a card down, as if caught by a sudden thought.

"Y'know, dey not gon' let y' go wit' dem next time, either."

Dana looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean by that?"

Remy shrugged and laid the card he was holding in its place. "Y' not a mutant. Y' got no powers an' no trainin' f' bein' out in space. De X-Men ain' gon' risk y' life like dat."

Dana didn't have an immediate answer. What he said rang very true, and she hated it. But less than a week ago she would have sworn that she would never have the opportunity to go into space, let alone actually do it. This world was so completely different from her own. The existence of mutants made so many seemingly impossible things possible, even ordinary. But within that reality she was woefully unprepared, as Remy put it, to go gallivanting around.

She looked at him. "So what do the non-mutants do?"

He shrugged. "Wear power armor an' carry high-intensity laser weapons, mostly."

Dana pursed her lips, thinking. But she knew what she wanted to do long before she asked herself the question.

"So, where can I get those?"

To her surprise, he began to chuckle.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"We should be able to see them." Scott leaned forward in the pilot's seat as he searched the slice of space visible through the Blackbird's windshield. His expression was one of mild dismay.

From her position behind him, Jean also stared at the impossibly black expanse. They were on the night side of the world, with the sun completely hidden behind the Earth's bulk, and the darkness was almost absolute.

"Passive sensors aren't picking up anything," Hank commented from the engineering station.

"That doesn't mean they aren't there," she answered without turning. She had her telepathic senses tuned way down to keep the Racth'zai from spotting her presence on the astral plane, but she wished she dared make a sweep of the area. "The last Shi'ar data said they were still sitting up here."

For the moment, the Blackbird was adrift in space. Joseph had launched them out of the upper atmosphere along a trajectory carefully calculated to put them into a stable orbit, and then shut down his powers. All of their onboard systems, except life support and the passive sensor array, were also shut down. Even the lights were out, and the Blackbird's coincidentally dark paint made them barely visible chunk of debris floating around the planet.

"Ah still say they could be cloaked." Jean heard Sam's voice from the rear of the cockpit, though it was dark enough back there she couldn't see him.

"Only if their technology is well beyond our own," Hank countered tersely, and Jean wondered if they were going to repeat their earlier conversation word-for-word. "The Blackbird's cloaking field would show up on our sensors, which is why we're not using it." He paused for a moment before going on to new territory. "However, since we're here and they don't appear to be, I would have to agree that they have either left the area. . . or they are, indeed, cloaked. Which begs the question of why the Shi'ar transmitter can see them when our own Shi'ar-based sensors can't."

"I doubt very much that the Shi'ar have brought us up to their current level of technology." Storm's white hair was a pale blur framing the darkness of her face. "Lilandra is too cautious for that."

"Perhaps, dear lady." Hank's claws rapped lightly on the engineering panel. "But it would have been nice if she'd informed us of that fact before leaving so precipitously."

"Hank—" Scott began, but then cut off as a dull thunk and a shudder ran through the Blackbird.

"We hit something," he breathed.

Jean's breath caught in her throat as she rapidly scanned the starry sky outside the cockpit. The Blackbird was wheeling slowly, the mild acceleration seeming inordinately large in the weightless environment.

"Joseph," Scott said. "Can you give us a _small_ magnetic attraction to whatever that was we just bumped into?"

"Of course." Joseph's pale hair also made him visible in the darkened aircraft, but Jean only glanced at him. Her attention was riveted to the blackness outside—the seemingly empty expanse that had just struck them ever-so-gently on the wingtip.

Their slow tumble changed directions almost imperceptibly and she guessed that Joseph had put his powers to use. It was amazing how different he was from Magneto. Subtlety of this kind would have completely escaped the so-called Master of Magnetism. Jean smiled wryly in the darkness. Of course, had Magneto still been in residence on Avalon, he would have made a very effective first line of defense against the Racth'zai. She doubted seriously that he would have allowed them to take up orbit around the planet in the first place.

Another thump, this one more gentle, rang from the aft fuselage and Jean was forced to smile again. Joseph had grounded them against whatever it was right at the Blackbird's hatch.

"Everybody seal up your suits." Scott's voice came to her through the microphone in her ear. She did so, glancing up briefly as he passed by her. He swam with efficient gracelessness across the Blackbird's cabin and came to a rest against the hatch.

"Everyone ready?"

No one spoke, so Jean released her harness and prepared to move as Scott anchored himself and then cycled the hatch. She held on as the atmosphere inside the cabin whooshed out into space, but her attention was captured by the view of space outside the hatch. Despite the fact that Joseph had apparently found something metal to hang onto out there, it looked like the stars went on forever, with nothing to obscure them from view.

When the atmosphere was gone, she floated across the cabin and took up a position opposite her husband. He seemed as fascinated as she as he reached through the hatch with one gloved hand. She could see the tiny ripples in the darkness as his fingers encountered something.

"There's definitely something there. Jean, can you give me a low-level scan?"

Slowly and carefully, Jean expanded her awareness, searching for signs of thought in the area directly in front of them. She found nothing immediate, which was all they needed to know for now.

"Nothing," she told him.

Scott nodded. "All right, then. Jean, Joseph, be ready with shields in case we're unlucky and this turns out to be a fuel tank."

_Wouldn't that be exciting,_ she thought sardonically. That was one of the drawbacks to trying to remain invisible for as long as possible. They were taking chances they normally wouldn't by keeping their use of powers to a minimum. The overriding reason, of course, was that the Racth'zai could not afford to let them get back to Earth with one of their ships as proof that they were there. So, more than likely, as soon as they were discovered, every ship out here was going to be bent on destroying them. And until the X-Men managed to take control of the vessel they were now boarding, they would have nothing but their powers with which to defend themselves against an entire armada.

Jean squinted against the glare as Scott's optic beam struck the invisible surface outside the hatch. The blackness rippled again, then began to spark as if the laser-fine beam were cutting into metal. A think gray line appeared against the black and Jean blinked rapidly at the disorienting view. Whatever optical shielding the ship had, it was incredible. The gray line seemed to just hang in the middle of nowhere, and though she knew it was a tear in the shielding, she couldn't force her mind to interpret the view of space as a surface.

Scott cut out an oval section approximately the same size as the hatch. Then he pulled himself back away from the opening as Jean gave the section a gentle telekinetic shove and put up a telekinetic block to keep the ship from depressurizing. The last thing they needed to do was set off a safety system of some kind.

Jean "heard" the clang as the cut section hit the floor through the palm of her hand where she gripped the jump handle bolted to the Blackbird's frame.

_Oh good. Gravity,_ she thought.

When she risked a quick look out the hatch, she could see a hole in space with an empty hallway beyond it. The interior of the ship was brightly lit, but with a sickly yellow cast to it that made everything look dingy.

Without hesitation, Scott hauled himself through the opening. Jean followed him, allowing the barest trickle of telepathy to expand around her like a fine net of feelers. Her stomach twisted savagely as she passed through the gravitational boundary, but then she was inside the corridor and moving forward to take her position in the vanguard. She kept her attention focused forward as the other X-Men quickly joined them. Bishop and Hank together lifted the piece of the hull back into place while Scott welded the edges. The process took long enough to make Jean nervous, and spoke volumes about the density of the metal. But for the hull to be so thin, it would have to be tough, she reminded herself.

Finally they finished, and Scott touched her shoulder. "Let's go."

#-#-#-#

"Why do I feel like we're going to get in trouble if we get caught doing this?" Dana stared at the odd contraption while behind her Remy chuckled.

"Probably 'cause it's de middle o' de night, de X-Men have all gone off t' hunt little gray men, I'm under strict orders not t' leave de infirmary f' any reason, an' you de doctor dat gave me de order, non?"

"Hmph." She refused to look at him because she was certain she knew what his grin would look like. And because her conscience would tweak her even harder. But the strange thing was that, the farther they'd gotten from the medlab, the more animated Remy had become. He actually _looked_ better. Not exactly healthier, but that ugly gray tone was gone from his skin and there was a spark of liveliness in his eyes that had been missing since that first day he'd awakened and teased Rogue over the intercom.

Remy was seated in a wheelchair at the controls of what looked for all the world like a billion dollar phone booth. A human-sized cylinder of clear glass or plastic stood atop a large mechanical base, though Dana couldn't guess what kind of machinery it was or what it did. There was a door on one side of the cylinder and a set of steps leading up to it. Several wide metal bands encircled the cylinder, with wires emerging from their surfaces at even intervals.

"What did you say this was again?"

"A replicator."

"So what does it do? Other than replicate."

He grinned. "If y' take off y' clothes an' get in, I'll show y'."

She blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

His smile was utterly innocent as he held up one hand. "I promise, I won' watch." Then he touched one of the controls and the clear glass of the cylinder darkened until it was completely opaque. "See?"

Still suspicious, she turned back to him. "Why?"

"'Cause y' need a bodysuit dat'll go under armor. De replicator'll manufacture one literally _on_ y' so it fits right an' won' interfere wit' anyt'ing y' put on over it. If y' keep y clothes on, it'll put de suit on over _dat_, an den it won' fit right."

Taken aback by the reasonable explanation, Dana could only stare at him. But eventually she found her voice. "O.k."

As she stripped, Dana kept an eye on Remy to make sure that he was, indeed, keeping his promise not to watch. Feeling intensely vulnerable, she climbed the stairs quickly and stepped into the dark cylinder. There was a blue-toned light glowing in the ceiling and she felt like she'd just climbed into a tanning bed.

"All right, I'm ready," she called once she'd shut the door. Then she waited nervously, all too aware that Remy had control of whatever changed the color of the glass.

A sudden tingling all over her body made her start. "What's it doing?" she demanded, suddenly wishing she could see outside of the odd machine.

"Relax, chere. It's jus' measurin' y'."

_Great. A digital record of my cellulite._ But she kept that thought to herself. After a few moments, the tingling went away.

"Now what?"

"Now y' need t' stand completely still. We'll start wit' de X-Men's standard an' go from dere."

A loud hum surrounded Dana and she watched in amazement as something that looked like blue paint seemed to coalesce out of the very air. It gathered itself into strips that lay themselves across her skin, wrapping around her body and joining seamlessly with the other pieces of itself. It didn't feel wet, though. In fact, it was dry and surprisingly soft. The process completed quickly, and Dana stared down at herself in bemusement. She was now dressed head to toe in a skin tight suit of blue trimmed with gold.

Experimentally, she moved her arms and raised her knees, testing the new suit. She could barely feel it move against her skin it was so tight, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Around her, the glass lost its opacity, and she looked up to find Remy watching her appraisingly.

"Not bad."

She cocked an eyebrow and then looked back down at herself. It wasn't exactly her first choice in color combinations, but he was right. It wasn't bad. And having seen the others walking around in the show-all suits, she didn't feel quite as awkward as she might have.

"Y' wan' try somet'ing else?" Remy asked.

Dana shrugged, trying not to look too eager. There was something insanely appealing about a magic clothes machine. "Sure."

The glass darkened once again and the blue suit dissolved, evaporating back into the air.

"Here, try dis."

This time, the coalescing suit was mostly purple. Dana couldn't quite contain her shock as the thing took shape around her. She was still staring when the glass once again became clear.

She looked up at Remy through her eyelashes, torn between laughter and outrage. "You have got to be kidding."

He lost his composure and began to laugh. "Y' right. I am." The laughter died quickly as he pressed a hand against his bandages with short hiss of pain. "Dat's Elizabeth's uniform," he added after a moment.

Dana watched him carefully, wanting to be certain he was all right. "Isn't it... distracting?"

Remy's smile returned. "Oui. But I t'ink dat's de point."

Dana looked the outfit over once more, tucking her hair behind her ear as she did so. She was all too aware that Remy was still watching her. It left her feeling both flattered and uncomfortable.

She took a deep breath. "If you're done leering at me, can we try something a little more practical?"

She was rewarded with another of his blinding smiles. "Lady's choice. What colors d' y' like?"

Dana considered for a moment, thinking over the contents of her closet. "Blues and greens," she finally told him.

She heard the faint clicking of his fingers on the keyboard. "I t'ink all de women keep files on dis t'ing, t'ough de last time anyone actually changed dere uniform..." The purple swimsuit disappeared and something new began to take it's place. "Dere's no tellin' _what_ we're gon' find in here."

This time, the suit was sleeveless. It was kelly green, with what looked like yellow paint splotches all over it. Dana grimaced and Remy shook his head.

"Jeannie, what _were_ y' t'inkin'?"

They went on through the various outfits the X-women had designed over time. Dana kept an eye on Remy, trying to gauge his condition. He seemed to be slowing down and she wondered how she was going to get him to go back to the infirmary. She almost hated to, but the monitoring equipment was there. The place cast such a pall of misery over him, though.

"Remy, can I ask you something?"

He paused. "What, chere?"

"Why do you hate the medlab so much?"

The shields came up in his eyes immediately. "What makes y' say dat, chere? Haven' I been a good patient?" His tone was faintly challenging.

She drew a steadying breath. "Despite Dr. McCoy's predictions to the contrary, yes, you have. That wasn't my question, though."

Their gazes met and locked. But after a moment, Remy looked away and his shoulders sagged. "It's jus' bad memories."

"Something that happened to you?" Dana had seen a few medical horrors with the X-Files, and found her stomach knotting up in apprehension.

He shook his head. "Non. Someone I got tangled up wit'."

Dana watched him in silence for a moment, debating. But then she decided it would be best to let it go. Like Mulder, Remy wasn't someone who gave out large doses of intimate information.

She sighed. "So, am I done trying on clothes?" Her current suit was a nice mix of blue tones, with black accents around the cuffs and neckline.

Remy flashed her a grateful expression. "I t'ink I got one more here for y' t' try." He touched the controls and the glass darkened. "I don' t'ink you've met Jubilee. She lives up in Boston now. Got a real artistic streak, t'ough I don' t'ink she wants anyone t' know it. Dis is one o' hers."

Dana nodded in silent understanding and watched as the colors began to coalesce around her. It was another one of the full-body suits. No short sleeves and no cutouts, thankfully. The background color was one of Dana's favorites—a sort of ocean green that matched her eyes. Pale blue ribbons crisscrossed the green, the design making them look like a wind was wrapping them about her body. The ribbons were lightest at the tips, which were wrapped around her arms and shoulders. Then, as they coiled lower on her body, they darkened and gathered closer together, overlapping until the green was completely obscured. At about knee level, the blue shaded over into black, and then the suit disappeared inside a pair of tall black boots. All together, it was kind of breathtaking.

By silent agreement, Dana stepped out of the replicator and walked down the steps. She paused when she realized that Remy was still staring at her, his expression intense.

"What?" She crossed her arms.

"Don' forget y' combadge."

"Oh." She went over to her discarded clothes and fished the little communicator out of the pocket of her jacket. It had a pin on the back, so she could wear it with the suit, she realized. She rubbed her thumb across the smooth surface, and the red "X" emblazoned there. Then she reached up and pinned it to the collar of her uniform.

"How's that?"

He nodded, looking oddly pleased. "Perfect."


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Remy closed his eyes, resting briefly while Dana struggled with the fittings on her armor. A piece of memory flashed to life behind his closed eyelids and he stiffened in response to the remembered pain. It was happening more often now—bits and pieces returning to him in a disjointed collage. They were only fragments so far, filled with bright lights and the sound of his own screams. He was torn between the desire to know what had happened—to resolve some the details that simply didn't make sense—and the sure knowledge that, if he found them, he would never be able to completely erase the memories from his nightmares.

The puzzling question was how had they held him, conscious enough for the agony he remembered, but somehow circumventing his powers. The only intact memory he had was of when Jean and Dana had come after him, and his powers had been functioning just fine then. It didn't make sense to think that his tormentors had suddenly given him his powers back. But for the life of him, he couldn't understand why he would have stayed there, let them do to him what they had, if he possessed the power to escape.

His confusion only served to fuel the simmering fury in the pit of his stomach. Remy was no stranger to the emotion of hatred, but in the past it had always been a sudden and passionate thing, involving little thought and even less self-control. This was different. He was determined that those responsible would eventually be repaid in full for what they'd done. When he remembered what they had done to him, they would get it back in spades.

He opened his eyes as Dana muttered a curse.

"Y' wan' some help, chere?" He pushed the thoughts away. He hadn't yet decided if he was going to mention the returning bits of memory to anyone.

Dana looked up, her lips pressed together in a thin line of frustration. "No." She went back to what she was doing, and with a sharp yank pulled the stiff seals into alignment. They fused with a soft hiss.

"There." The single word was triumphant. Dana spent a moment looking the suit over. Remy examined her critically as well, but saw nothing untoward. She'd managed to put the complex suit on properly without assistance.

"How's it feel?" he asked.

Dana cocked her head, a small frown decorating her lips. "Better than I expected, at least. I'm not sure I would call it comfortable."

She turned to the table where a standard-issue Browning laser rifle was laid out, waiting for her. After a moment's hesitation, she picked up the weapon, weighing it in her hands. She spent several minutes familiarizing herself with the weapon, and then turned to Remy, her expression hinting at a smile.

"So now I'm ready to join the X-Men on their next mission?"

Remy found himself chuckling dryly at her expression, despite the sharp pain it caused him. "Be fun t' see someone try t' stop y'." He pressed the fingers of one hand lightly against his bandaged abdomen as he nodded toward her new gear. "Y' ought t' spend some time in de Danger Room gettin' used t' all dat, t'ough."

She nodded in assent as she checked the safety on the rifle and slung it over her shoulder. "Maybe we should check in with Charles. He might have heard something by now." She walked around behind Remy to take hold of his wheelchair's handles.

"Y' wan' go upstairs?"

"It's almost time for breakfast." She glanced down at him over his shoulder. "I don't suppose I'm going to be able to talk you into going back to the infirmary?"

Although her tone was light, it brought back everything Remy was trying not to think about. "Non," he answered more sharply than he intended. He had never been fond of the laboratory air of the X-Men's infirmary. It reminded him far too much of Sinister's labs.

She sighed softly. "Suit yourself. However, as your doctor I'm going to insist that you lay down in a bed once we've talked to Charles. I assume you have one upstairs somewhere."

"Oui, chere." He was a bit amused by her stern, matronly tone, though he wondered why she was so willing to let him leave the infirmary on a semi-permanent basis when Hank would not even have entertained the idea.

Their conversation faded into silence as they moved out into the hallway. With nothing to distract him, Remy began to notice how tired he was. And how much he hurt. He shoved the awareness away. Sleep wasn't going to bring him any peace, not while the X-Men were gone.

#-#-#-#

Charles' expression of surprise was priceless as Remy and Dana entered his office. It was very rare for anyone to catch Charles off guard, but the beautiful and slightly ethereal federal agent, now decked out in some of the world's most powerful combat hardware, was a rather stunning sight. Remy enjoyed watching the Professor struggle with his composure.

Charles stared at Dana for several long moments, his surprise fading into approval. "I see you two have been keeping busy," he commented, his gaze traveling between them.

Dana managed to look slightly abashed as she nodded, but her gaze remained firm. "When we have the opportunity to search for Mulder, I don't want to be left out."

Charles gave her a sympathetic smile. "That was never our intention." He glanced at Remy. "Though I was expecting to have Ororo introduce you to some of this world's more advanced technologies once she returned."

Remy shrugged as diffidently as he could manage. "Nobody told me dat."

"Most likely because you are supposed to be staying in bed to recuperate," Charles returned immediately, and Remy gave him a sour look.

"Y' heard anyt'ing from de X-Men?" Remy asked by way of changing the subject.

"No, not yet." Charles pushed himself away from his desk and moved the hoverchair around to the side. "I was just getting ready to go use Cerebro to make another sweep for them. It's still early to expect anything."

Remy froze as something impinged on the edge of his mutant spatial sense. Three somethings, actually, that streaked across the front lawn at tremendous speed.

"Get down!" he yelled and dove for the floor as the alarms began to wail. Dana joined him as his mutant senses tracked the three missiles through the last seconds of their flight.

Two of the missiles exploded over the driveway as the mansion's defense grid came on line, but the third evaded the fine net of lasers and continued on its course toward the bay window that lined the wall of the Professor's office. Remy reacted instinctively, grabbing a paperweight off of the corner of the desk, charging it, and throwing it toward the incoming missile. His injuries screamed at the motions, but they would all be dead if the missile detonated inside the office.

He collapsed to the floor with stars whirling before his eyes as the two objects met and exploded just beyond the window. The shock wave toppled the Professor's hoverchair and blew all of the objects off of the desk. Charles hit the ground with a surprised cry, but the overturned chair provided him with an excellent shield against the flames and shattered glass that slammed through the room. Behind the desk, Dana and Remy were similarly shielded.

As soon as the explosion was over, Remy felt strong hands on him, helping him up. "Are you all right?" Dana's eyes were wide and wild with adrenaline.

"Oui," he managed to answer as he leaned back against the side of the desk. "Professor?" Outside, he could sense a swarm of human activity at the edges of his perception. Whoever had fired those missiles had been waiting just beyond the limits of his spatial sense, but now they were beginning to advance.

"I'm fine." Charles had raised himself to a sitting position. A shallow gash on his head was shedding of trail of blood, but he didn't seem to notice. "How many are there?"

Remy could now clearly sense the men who were cautiously making their way across the lawn. They moved with the precision of a trained combat squad, and he could only guess that they had taken care of the defense grid lasers somehow. "Six in de first group, 'nother six behind."

The Professor's expression was grim. "I can't sense them. They're wearing psi shielding of some kind." He paused. "They obviously know who we are."

Dana looked between them, her expression calculating. "What now?"

"I don't think we three are going to be able to mount much of a defense if their intent is to kill us. Our best choice is to get to the other Blackbird," Charles answered as he began to pull himself across the floor toward the door.

Remy nodded and then immediately regretted the action as nausea swept through him. He forced himself into motion though, crawling toward the door with Dana's assistance. He ducked involuntarily as one of the men outside swept the room with strafing fire. The three of them were still well shielded by the desk and Charles' chair, but he knew they were running out of time.

Beside him, Dana pulled the laser rifle off of her shoulder and thumbed the safety off. She rose to her knees, firing blindly through the jagged hole that had been ripped in the wall of the Professor's study as Charles opened the door that led into the hall.

Remy forced himself to his feet as Dana darted out into the hall behind them and slammed the door shut. He felt like he was seeing everything through a haze, but the FBI agent's face was clear enough as she stared at him and the Professor in dismay. Remy had no trouble guessing what she was thinking.

"I'll manage," he croaked. "Y' have t' carry de Professor."

More gunfire drummed against the other side of the door, propelling Dana into motion. With a last look at Remy, she stooped and lifted the Professor into her arms. He was pleased to note that she kept her rifle in hand as she did so. She wouldn't have much flexibility in her direction of fire, but it was better than nothing.

Bracing himself against the wall with one hand, Remy staggered after Dana as she ran for the lifts that would take them to the lower levels.

#-#-#-#

"There it is," Cyclops said softly and walked forward to peer carefully at a diagram plastered to the wall of the passageway they were in.

"Ah suppose it's too much ta hope for a 'You Are Here' sticker," Rogue commented beside him.

Cyclops threw her a sour look, which Rogue returned blandly. They were all getting twitchy crawling through the endless tunnels, and she, at least, needed to restore some perspective before the eerie atmosphere of the spaceship made her completely paranoid.

Behind her, Storm leaned against the corridor wall, her face set in the grim lines Rogue recognized as a defense against her claustrophobic reaction to small places.

Jean's touch on their minds froze each of the X-Men in their places. _Company,_ she said tersely.

The creature that scampered around the corner took Rogue by surprise. It was small and squirrel-like, but covered in a luxurious coat of long white fur. A fitted vest covered much of its body, and appeared to carry a variety of tools in mesh pockets.

The creature had time for one short squeak of surprise before Bishop knocked it to the floor. Either stunned or unconscious, the creature simply lay there, and Rogue realized suddenly that she recognized its species.

"It's like that thing that rides around with Ch'od," Bobby said before she could put her thoughts into words.

Scott nodded as the creature opened its eyes, blinking slowly. "I think you're right. Does it seem like it's a kind of... mechanic?"

Jean knelt to touch the creature's small head. "I can't sense much from its mind, but it does seem to be some kind of a worker." Rogue saw the frightened creature's eyes sag shut under Jean's gentle touch.

"Indeed. Perhaps these Racth'zai are using the races they have conquered as laborers?" Storm knelt beside Jean to finger a collar that surrounded the creature's neck.

"Well, at least now we know there's _somethin'_ alive on this ship." Rogue gave the small creature one last look. "Ah was beginnin' ta wonder."

"We'd better keep moving," Cyclops told them as he went back to studying the alien map. He seemed to reach a conclusion, and pointed to one of the corridors that branched away from the one they had been following. "That way."

#-#-#-#

Remy leaned against the wall with one hand pressed against his stomach, wishing desperately that he could afford the luxury of fainting. Fresh blood darkened his shirt in a growing stain, from the sutures he had once again managed to rip open. Dana watched him with concern, as did the Professor, but neither said anything, for which he was grateful.

The wall mounted lasers in the foyer started up with a sharp staccato of sounds, and Remy heard an answering cry of pain from one of the soldiers who were invading the mansion. So far, the mansion's defenses—under Cerebro's direction-- were holding them down fairly well, but they continued to advance in stages as they methodically destroyed each weapons station. Remy, Charles and Dana had already been cut off from the nearest of the lifts, and had been forced to backtrack. Unfortunately, the group of soldiers that were coming in through the foyer stood between them and the kitchen, which would provide them a shortcut into the den and access to the other lifts.

"Ready?" Dana asked him as the soldiers returned fire on the wall lasers.

Remy nodded jerkily, not trusting himself to speak. He had picked up a couple of pieces of debris from the missile's explosion, but his fingers felt like they were going to sleep, making it hard to keep his grip on them.

Charles was seated with his back to the wall, completely vulnerable unless Remy and Dana could do something about the approaching soldiers. His powers were nullified by the psi-shielded helmets they were wearing, and Remy had to agree that it looked like they knew just exactly who they were dealing with. _How_ they had discovered the X-Men's base of operations was another question entirely.

"Now," Dana said, and darted around the corner. Remy followed her as she opened fire, charging the debris in his hand as he went. The power felt like acid running down his arms, but he clung grimly to the targets that his mutant sense picked out, and threw. As the scraps left his hands, Dana caught him around the chest, slamming both of them into the wall as she used her armor to shield him from the close-quarters blast.

Remy gagged as memory impinged on reality. His vision was whited out momentarily by impossibly bright lights. He recognized the circular shapes of the lights within the brightness, but could see nothing beyond. Hard points of agony raked through his brain, more painful even than Psylocke's psychic knife. Shadowy forms moved around him, their outlines obscured by the light. They seemed to be watching him, their voices a low scratchy murmur he couldn't identify.

Vaguely, he was aware of the sound of Dana's rifle, as if he was hearing it from a great distance. Then, in an instant, the memory was gone and the real world hit him full force. Sound and vision returned, and he looked around to see Dana standing in the middle of the foyer, her expression dismayed as she stared at the bodies that littered the floor. She blinked once and then gathered herself with a small shake of her head. With a quick glance in his direction, she went back into the hallway after Charles. Remy leaned gratefully against the wall and waited.

A loud crash and then the sound of gunfire set a cold shiver up Remy's spine. Dana came back at a run, the Professor in her arms. Her rifle was gone.

"Move, Remy!" she shouted at him as chasing laser fire ate large chunks out of the corner wall just behind her.

Instinctively, Remy charged his last sliver of metal and lobbed it into the hall, then turned and ran after Dana. He heard the explosion but barely registered it through the spikes of pain that accompanied every pounding footstep as they bolted for the kitchen.

The kitchen was as far as Remy could push himself. He stumbled to a halt, sagging against the countertop. The shimmering surfaces of hanging pots and cutlery sparked an idea, and he fumbled with one of the drawers that his searching fingers found beneath the edge of the counter.

Dana whirled, her eyes snapping to the kitchen doorway as a black clad figure appeared there. Remy yanked open the drawer in his hand, grabbed the nearest piece of silverware, charged it and threw before the soldier could bring his weapon to bear on them. The spoon exploded and the man collapsed with a cry. Remy knew that would hold his companions off for a little while, but not very long.

"Remy, come on!" Dana jerked her head toward the door that would lead into the den and then to the lifts.

Remy managed to grab a handful of silverware as his legs gave out beneath him. He slid down the cabinets and the handful of forks and spoons scattered across the floor in front of him. His vision wavered dangerously and he scrabbled to hold onto the shreds of consciousness.

Laser fire filled the room as someone fired blindly into the kitchen from the hall. It didn't quite reach them because of the angle, but Remy knew that the next volley probably would as the soldiers grew more confident.

"Go on, chere," he told Dana as a cold hand of fear clenched his stomach. He carefully picked up one of the forks, eyes narrowing as he forced his powers to function. His throw was weak, but the fork skittered across the tiled floor, exploding when it hit the door jam.

"Gambit, we're not going to leave without you."

Remy felt Dana's presence beside him and looked up at the Professor. He tried to summon his usual bravado. "I'll be right behind y'," he said as his mutant power noted renewed motion outside the kitchen door. He picked up another fork. "Y' can' let dem take de most powerful telepath... " The effort of charging the aluminum utensil momentarily robbed him of speech. "...on de planet... neh?"

The Professor's next words echoed directly in Remy's mind. _Remy, we're almost out of time. You CAN make it a little further._

For once, Remy was grateful for the telepathic intrusion. It was much easier than speaking. _Somebody's got t' cover y' backs._ He threw the glowing fork in his hand toward the doorway. Wise to his powers, the men outside took cover from the blast. Two of them started moving away, and Remy guessed that they were looking for another entrance to the kitchen. It would only be a matter of moments before they found the door to the den, which would cut Dana and the Professor off from the lifts. He conveyed that information to the Professor through their mindlink, not bothering to put it into words.

He knew immediately that Charles understood. The Professor's expression was agonized as he turned to Dana. "Go," he told her.

Remy was impressed despite himself when the FBI agent didn't hesitate. She seemed to have an uncanny understanding of how dangerous it would be to allow the Racth'zai to tap into the full potential of mutant genes. And how important Charles Xavier was as a telepath capable of manipulating any mind on the planet.

Dana turned and sprinted for the door that led into the den, disappearing almost immediately from Remy's sight. His mutant power continued to track them, and he smiled grimly as they moved into the anteroom where the lift doors were. The approaching soldiers had found the other door to the den, but they were moving too cautiously to catch them now.

Concentrating, Remy picked up another piece of silverware as the soldiers closed in on him in careful silence. His job now was misdirection. The Professor would seal the lift tubes and lock down the cars once they got to the hangar level, but the longer it took these soldiers to figure out where they'd gone, the better. Remy had no idea if the Professor had been able to reach anyone on the other teams telepathically, but he could hope that the cavalry would show up in time to keep the government and the Racth'zai from raiding the complex beneath the mansion.

The two soldiers in the den made a rush on the kitchen from that side and Remy tossed a fork in their direction. The two scattered, diving to the floor as the explosion shattered the floor tiles and sent a ball of fire billowing through the doorway. But as his vision cleared from the bright flash, Remy found that the two had regained their feet. Their rifles were trained unwaveringly on him, and Remy laid his head back against the cabinets with an unconscious sigh of relief. He'd done everything he could to shield the Professor and Dana while they escaped.

Sighing once more, he allowed his eyelids to sag shut. Unconsciousness came to claim him almost immediately, and he went without protest.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Dana stared out the windscreen of the Blackbird, feeling numb. The dark ocean swept by beneath her, lit only by the silver light of a crescent moon. The foamy crests of breaking waves glowed faintly against the black surface of the water, but they were so far beneath her that she lost any sense of motion. Instead, the tiny glints seemed to mimic the starry sky, as if the ocean were a vast mirror reflecting the infinity of space. Everything was cold and silent. Even the cockpit of the Blackbird was eerily quiet as they outraced the sound of their own engines.

Seated in the co-pilot's chair, Dana wrapped her arms more tightly about herself and glanced at Charles. His eyes were fixed resolutely ahead, then lines of his face hard and still. She desperately wanted to ask about Remy, but was too frightened of the answer to force herself to speak. She'd seen the change in Charles' face when he lost telepathic contact, as grief and resolution warred in his features, but his hands on the Blackbird's controls had never hesitated.

Finally, she forced her mind away from the past and directed it toward the future. "Where are we going?"

Charles' gaze jerked to her, as if she'd startled him out of a private reverie. "Muir Island," he answered after a short pause. "We're going to meet up with Excaliber and start making plans to go after the X-Men."

Dana digested that quietly. Plans to go after the X-Men. Not Remy, the X-Men. The realization sent a chill down her spine. For whatever reason, the attack on the mansion had convinced him that the X-Men were also in danger. Dana thought back through the events of the past hours, searching for a logical chain of information that would lead her to the same conclusion, but she found that she lacked far too many of the important details.

"Do you know who sent those men?"

Charles breathed an aborted sigh, which to Dana seemed filled with resignation. She had the distinct impression that he didn't really want to talk. Unfortunately, he was the only one with answers to her questions.

"Not for certain, but the specific agency isn't important."

On another day, Dana might have smiled at that. She'd become quite familiar with the generic "government" stamp. She was also used to discovering that such people always seemed to know everything they wanted to know. However, Charles had seemed very surprised that anyone would have discovered that his reclusive school actually housed the X-Men.

"Do you have any idea how they knew where to find us?" She touched the back of her neck reflexively. "Hank scanned all three of us for implants."

Charles adjusted his grip on the control wheel. He flexed his fingers several times as if debating with himself, then reached over and punched the appropriate buttons on the autopilot mode panel. Then he sat back and turned to face Dana.

"That is not the most disturbing thing about all of this, I'm afraid. It's not a large stretch to imagine that someone in the government has paid enough attention to the X-Men over the years to figure out where their base of operations is. That information is available. It is the method of their attack that disturbs me."

Dana listened curiously while he continued, "First and foremost, only a very few people know that I am a mutant at all. And of those, even fewer know anything about the extent of my powers." He crossed his arms. "The soldiers that attacked us were wearing some highly advanced psi shielding. Even I couldn't penetrate it."

"So they knew exactly who you were."

Charles nodded. "Yes. Secondly, they knew just as much about Gambit's powers as they did about mine, which is perhaps just as surprising."

Dana cocked an eyebrow. "I noticed he's not the most forthcoming of people." She felt a little guilty, as is the comment was somehow irreverent. But then she shoved the thought away. She was not going to let herself believe that she was talking about the dead.

Charles' lips quirked in a shadow of a smile. "Considering that he's a professional thief, spy and who-knows-what else, that shouldn't surprise you." The hint of humor in his face died. "But the truth is that I didn't think there was anyone who really knew the extent of Remy's powers. I certainly don't."

As Dana watched, his expression grew even more grave.

"What?" she finally asked.

Charles looked up. "Remy was tortured." His voice was flat with suppressed anger. "Even though he claims not to remember any of it, and I believe him, I am quickly running out of other possibilities for how these people could have learned so much about us."

Dana closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat rest as the chain of logic fell into place in her head. She felt hollow with dread. "Then, if they know that much about you, they also know all about the other X-Men. Their powers, their personalities, their weaknesses... " She opened her eyes to look at Charles.

He nodded. "And since they attacked us after the X-Men were gone, and with an application of force consistent with the small resistance we three could offer, the chances are good that they knew about the mission." He turned his head to look out at the stars. "Or at least they knew enough to have tracked the Blackbird when it left."

Dana followed his gaze to the night sky, wondering what was happening up there to the people she was beginning to think of as friends. "Then the X-Men are walking into a trap."

Charles bowed his head. "I fear they already have."

Dana looked over at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

Charles met her gaze, his eyes filled with anguish. "I've been trying to reach Jean since we took off. Even with her shields up, I should be able to sense her, but I can't find a trace of her or any of the X-Men."

Chilled, Dana turned to stare out the cockpit windshield. She wanted to scream at the dark forces that seemed to be forever stealing from her the people she cared about. First Melissa, then Mulder, and now Remy and Jean and the others. Part of her was tempted to run away—to give up searching for the truth and live any lie that would not cost her the lives of those she loved. But the rest of her was simply angry. The low-grade fury she harbored for the Racth'zai and the governments who perpetrated such evil on the people they were supposed to protect exploded inside her, chasing away her fear.

"I'm going with you," she told Charles grimly.

His expression didn't change as he nodded.

#-#-#-#

Jean Summers opened her eyes cautiously as consciousness returned. Her head ached horribly and she instinctively tried to raise a hand to touch her forehead, only to discover that she couldn't move. Surprised, she tried to lift her head, despite the pain, but that was tied down as well. A strap of some supple material crossed her forehead, pinning her head tightly to the surface on which she lay. That was quite possibly part of the reason for the headache. She struggled briefly against the bonds that held her, but quickly gave up in favor of observing her new surroundings.

Above her, bright lights were stationed in a circle around the edges of the ceiling of what appeared to be a small amphitheater. Her mind identified it as a surgical theater without registering any significance to the thought. The lights were bright enough to obscure anything beyond the windows that ringed the upper portion of the theater. A single tube of some silver metal descended from the ceiling, terminating in a narrow tip a few inches above Jean's face. She could see little else from her restricted viewpoint, and after a few minutes of observation, closed her eyes.

Memories began to return then, and her eyes flew open in alarm as she remembered her last moments of consciousness.

They'd walked into a trap. She wasn't certain how they'd known or even how they'd accomplished it, but somehow the Racth'zai had stripped away their mutant powers. One moment the X-Men had been walking through a kind of storage area and the next Jean's mind had been filled with a high-pitched keening that grated across her senses like giant nails. She'd reached out telepathically for the source of the broadcast at the same time the other X-Men began to fan out, but she found herself locked within her own mind. Too quickly to counter, the horrible sound had increased until it brought Jean to her knees in agony. She'd been vaguely aware of the others around her, suffering as she was, but as the noise in her mind became unbearable and she pitched forward into darkness, she'd been unable to feel anything except for horror at how easily the X-Men had fallen.

Fully cognizant now, Jean struggled to calm her fear. Her powers were still gone, leaving her head-blind, unable to sense the other X-Men. Even her rapport with Scott was missing and she felt intensely vulnerable and very thoroughly alone. Her heart was pounding in her ears, so she concentrated on breathing deeply in the hopes of being able to hear whatever might be around her.

Eventually her pulse slowed, but her straining ears found nothing. For all she could tell, she was completely alone.

#-#-#-#

Remy woke at the sensation of something cold touching him. He identified it before he opened his eyes and decided that he was in some kind of trouble.

"I suggest you sit very still, Mr. Gambit."

Remy also recognized the voice, and opened his eyes to find the Cancer Man watching him warily. He held a nine millimeter pistol whose tip rested against Remy's chest, just over his heart.

"Y' have m' full attention," he managed to answer, and was somewhat surprised to hear the words come out. He felt awful, as if someone had tied him up and dragged him behind a truck for a couple of days. He didn't think he'd acquired any new injuries since the attack on the mansion, but he'd been in bad enough shape then as it was, and it didn't appear that much had changed.

Cancer Man smiled in amusement, though the expression never got as far as his eyes. "Good." He gaze dropped momentarily to Remy's hands, which were tied to the chair in which he was seated. "If I see even a hint of pink, I will kill you. Understood?"

Remy didn't doubt him. "Oui." He resisted the temptation to flex his wrists against the cords that held him. His spatial power was in operation, as, no doubt, was his biokinetic charge, but he didn't think he could dodge the bullet so long as Cancer Man kept his gun where it was. He did have to wonder how the man had learned about mutants in general, and his own powers in particular. There seemed to be a disturbing number of people who knew an awful lot about him these days.

Cancer Man seemed to accept his answer and shifted his stance slightly. "You and I are going to have a little talk about our last... meeting."

Remy's eyes narrowed angrily. "What about it?"

Cancer Man's expression remained mild. "What do you remember?"

Remy stared at him as he debated how to answer, if at all. Cancer Man's tone wasn't taunting as, perhaps, it should have been. He sounded genuinely curious, and it set Remy's mind to racing through the possible implications.

Cancer Man watched him for a moment, then his eyebrows lifted fractionally. "Obviously not very much." Then his expression firmed. "So let me fill in a couple of details for you."

"You were delivered to me in pretty much the same condition you're in now." A flicker of a smile crossed his face, but Remy couldn't identify the emotion that fueled it. "At the time, I was... unaware of your unique abilities. So, I'm curious—if your friends hadn't shown up when they did, I believe you might very well have blown up the safehouse and everyone in it in the process of attempting to escape. Is that a reasonable assumption?"

Remy studied him for a long moment. He wasn't certain he believed Cancer Man's claim that he wasn't involved in his torture, but there was little reason not to play along for a while, at least.

He shrugged. "Prob'ly."

Cancer Man seemed pleased by the answer. "Well, that's the confirmation I was looking for." He cocked his head and adjusted his grip on the pistol. "Now the only question that remains is why someone went to so much trouble to set you up to kill me."

Remy stared at him as the pieces fell into place. His memories were still very, very fuzzy, but there was a different feel to the ones filled with so much pain. Wherever that place had been, it wasn't in the basement where he'd awakened. And that explained why he hadn't been able to escape. For most of the time, his powers _had_ been suppressed. They'd only been returned to him once he was in a position to use them for the benefit of whoever had arranged it all. It made a bizarre kind of sense. Remy felt a new anger filling him. He didn't like being used, and especially didn't like being used to kill. He'd been down that road before with Sinister and didn't have any interest in going back.

Remy sorted through his options. He didn't know how much Cancer Man knew about the alternate universes or the Racth'zai. Adding to the man's knowledge would probably be dangerous, but if he could glean some understanding of the political machinations going on on this universe's side of things, he might be able to turn it to some kind of advantage.

"Maybe y' friends not so friendly after all."

Cancer Man pressed the tip of the pistol more tightly against Remy's chest. "I don't have any friends, Mr. Gambit."

Remy didn't react. He was beginning to get a feel for the Cancer Man. His years of working as a thief, con artist and various other things had given him a keen ability to gauge people. The Cancer Man was frightened, but not panicked. He was a man used to having complete control within his arena, and the destruction of that absolute power had him scared. He needed answers that he believed Remy could provide him, but was showing some willingness to compromise in order to get those answers. Remy was confident he could work him, so long as he didn't underestimate the man's ruthless intelligence.

"All right," Remy agreed quietly and felt the pressure on the gun ease. "I t'ink maybe we have some common interests, neh?"

Cancer Man visibly relaxed, though Remy could tell it was mostly a show for his benefit. "That's better." He paused. "Last time you said the ship crashed in Mongolia. Tell me about it."

Remy's mind spun for a moment as he tried to make the connection, but then the memory came back to him and he wondered once again just how much this man knew. He seemed to have a wide scattering of information, but Remy couldn't tell how much of the real picture he possessed. He weighed his words carefully.

"A ship did crash in Mongolia." He shrugged lightly. "Can' guarantee to y' dat it was de one y' lookin' for."

"Who was on it?"

Remy raised an eyebrow. That was a point of real interest, and the Cancer Man was doing a poor job of hiding it. But, if the pilot was who the X-Men thought, that was understandable. However, Remy was going to have to dance around this one a bit. He had much to offer Cancer Man, which hopefully would be enough to distract him from the more important questions that Remy couldn't afford to answer.

He summoned a smile. "If y' wonderin' if Mulder was on it, den oui, he was." He had the satisfaction of seeing the Cancer Man's expression widen in surprise. "We pulled his body out o' de wreckage."

Cancer Man's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Then Agent Scully's identification was in error."

Remy shrugged. "Don' know 'bout dat. I wouldn' be surprised if she was right."

The thoughtful expression didn't change. "Clones?"

Remy was almost starting to enjoy the conversation. "Y' folks seem t' be into dat."

Cancer Man ignored him for a few moments as he thought. Remy was content to wait. His power to charm was somewhat nebulous, but he could feel the tendrils, like tiny hooks, that now linked him to the Cancer Man. The longer they talked, the stronger his ability to influence him would grow. As long as he was careful, he had little to fear and might be able to learn a great deal.

"What about the ship itself?" Cancer Man asked suddenly.

Remy followed the shift in direction curiously. "Not'ing left but pieces." Then he smiled. "Is it my turn t' ask a question?"

Cancer Man gave him an evaluating stare, as if trying to decide how much he might gain by granting the request. Finally, he nodded tightly. "Of course."

Remy considered the possibilities carefully before he spoke. "How did I get here?"

Without losing his focus on the gun in his hand, Cancer Man reached into an inner pocket in his suit jacket and pulled out a package of cigarettes. "I called in a favor... several favors. It seems that the agency that captured you works outside of our jurisdiction." His expression hinted that that was another subject of interest, but Remy knew better than to pursue it. He didn't think that Cancer Man knew about the different universes yet, only that there were other players on the field that he hadn't known about. But the fact that he could pull strings on this side of things and get people on Remy's side to jump was significant.

Cancer Man drew a cigarette from the package with his lips and moved to toss the package onto a nearby table. Catching a whiff of the tobacco, Remy decided to push his power a bit. He narrowed his concentration and Cancer Man paused with the package still in hand.

"Cigarette?" he asked.

Remy smiled. "Merci."


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Scott Summers opened his eyes to the harsh glare of artificial white lights. He sat up slowly, painfully and looked around. He was in a barren cell, no more than four feet by four feet. The walls, floor and ceiling were all made of the same material, almost like plastic. Everything was white, and in the harsh lighting, the blue and gold of his uniform stood out in sharp relief. Cautiously, Scott touched his visor. His brain had long since learned to filter out the red tint that colored his vision, but there was something about the quality of the light that had left him wondering momentarily if he was no longer seeing through the ruby quartz.

He wasn't sure if he found the visor's presence more comforting or less. His powers were gone—suppressed no doubt by whoever had attacked them and was now holding them prisoner. However, that gave him little insight into whether their captors knew the limits on Scott's control of his powers. It could as easily be arrogance as ignorance that prompted them to leave Scott's visor with him.

Scott climbed to his feet and spent a few minutes examining his cell. The ceiling was a good ten feet above the floor and covered with some kind of flush-mounted lights. Otherwise, there were no distinguishing marks anywhere, not even a crack or seam to indicate where a door might be located.

"Phoenix!" Scott called as loudly as he could. "Storm! Wolverine! Can anyone hear me?" His voice echoed around inside the cell.

"Nice a ya ta join the party, Cyke." A familiar voice drifted to him, barely audible through the wall of the cell. Scott felt a wash of relief.

"Who else is there?" he asked. "Is everyone all right?"

"Storm's in a pretty bad way," Wolverine answered him. "Can't handle the small space. But except fer you an' Phoenix, we've accounted fer everyone. No major problems."

Scott felt a cold hand clench around his stomach. "Phoenix?" It didn't matter that Jean was a fellow X-Man and a powerful telepath. First and foremost, she was his wife, and though he had learned to separate the two facets of their life together, it did not change the gut-level fear that gripped him whenever he thought she might be at risk.

"She could still be out." Wolverine's voice was filled with a quiet fury that threatened mayhem and violence if that wasn't the case. Scott found himself strangely grateful for the sentiment. It had taken him a long time to accept the fact that Jean would love other men besides himself. Not in the same way-- not romantically-- but still with a deep and probably lifelong commitment to those who were her second family.

Scott slid down the wall until he was seated once again and leaned his head back against the cold, hard surface. Hopefully Jean was just a few feet away, unconscious but in no more immediate danger than himself or the others. He hated that fact that he couldn't feel her through their rapport. That, at least, would have reassured him that she was still alive.

"You got any ideas on how to get out of here?" Scott asked after a moment.

"Not at the moment. They've covered their bases." Wolverine's voice was strangely flat and Scott frowned. Wolverine wasn't the kind of man to give up or admit defeat, but something in his tone made Scott think that the other man had been given pause. It left him with a vaguely unsettled feeling, but he pushed that aside in favor of more pressing concerns.

#-#-#-#

"Don't everybody panic at once, but... I think we have a problem."

Dana's eyes flew open at the calm, almost wry statement from Shadowcat. The young woman was seated in the co-pilot's seat beside Nightcrawler, whose prehensile tail was wrapped tightly about one of the corner seat supports in an unconscious nervous reaction. Painfully bright light shone into their converted aircraft through the cockpit windshield and Dana shielded her eyes as she struggled to look past the light to the shadowy bulk she could see behind it.

A moment later, the light cut out, and Dana gasped at the view before her. Above and surrounding them was an immense floating platform that looked more like a city than any kind of vehicle. An escort of ships surrounded it, each of them the size of a Naval frigate. Even the smallest dwarfed their Blackbird, and the multiple spines that stuck out of their hulls left her with the impression that they were far better armed as well.

"That's the SHIELD Helicarrier." Nightcrawler said in a voice rich with curiosity. "I wonder what they want."

"Certainly it will be nothing good." That from a man codenamed Colossus. Dana had yet to see his mutant power manifested, but the term "organic steel" intrigued her.

"Their weapons are powered up and ready, but nothing has locked on." Shadowcat continued to scan the displays on two screens in front of her. On the heels of her statement, a sickening lurch shook the airplane, forcing Dana to grab the arms of her chair to keep from being tossed painfully against her seat harness.

"I take that back," Shadowcat amended. "Tractor beam has locked on. Still no weapons locks."

"It isss a trap," hissed the young lupine woman Dana could only remember as Rahne. She was finding it hard to remember both the given name and codename for everyone she met. Usually only one or the other stuck with her.

"I do not think so, liebling. That isn't Fury's style." He looked over at Shadowcat. "Can we break free?"

She frowned. "Considering the modifications we made to this bird, probably. We've got enough power. The problem is that we'd most likely rip the airframe apart in the process."

"What, exactly, is S.H.I.E.L.D?" Dana asked, uncertain she wanted to hear more about the relative strength of the airframe.

"Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistic Directorate. It's a kind of unilateral anti-terrorism group." Shadowcat spared a glance over her shoulder. "Unfortunately, anti-terrorism translates into anti-mutant pretty frequently."

"Is it a government organization?"

Nightcrawler frowned. "Yes, though the lines are somewhat obscure."

Dana looked back out at the floating city that had grown so large that it obscured the sky. They were headed toward a tiny opening in a section of an immense wall that lost all dimensions as they drew closer. "I don't like this," she said quietly.

"Nor do I." Colossus gave her a solemn look. "But Nightcrawler is right. If Colonel Fury intended us harm, he would already have attacked."

"Who is Fury?"

"Colonel Nick Fury. He's in charge of SHIELD operations." Shadowcat glanced over at Nightcrawler and shrugged. "He's a reasonable man... most of the time."

Their aircraft floated through the hangar doorway as she spoke and through the windshield, Dana could see a wide expanse of metal floor that appeared to have been reserved just for them. Soldiers were lined up off to one side, their weapons tracking the Blackbird's descent, and beyond them stood a man and woman that Dana took to be officers.

"There's Fury," Shadowcat commented as the Blackbird settled onto its landing gear. Dana took another look at the man Shadowcat indicated. He was the apparent senior officer, a tall, grizzled man with an eye patch and a scowl that reminded Dana of all the things she didn't like about the military.

"Shall we go see what he wants?" Nightcrawler rose from his seat.

Dana followed the others down the Blackbird's ramp. She had elected to bring her rifle, but kept it slung over one shoulder, and she could feel the gazes of the soldiers on her as she fell in step beside Colossus.

Colonel Fury's gaze swept over her curiously as they approached, but he quickly centered his attention on Nightcrawler. "Let's dispense with the pleasantries, shall we?" he asked.

Nightcrawler nodded cautiously. "If you wish."

Fury seemed pleased by that. "Then I'll get straight to the point. I received a direct order to burn that bird of yours out of the sky." Fury ignored the ripple of surprise his words caused. "Obviously, I disobeyed the order." He shrugged. "Only the United States Air Force and the X-Men fly Blackbirds, so I figured it would be really interesting to know why my superiors would be giving me orders to shoot down either one."

His gaze swept across them, fixing momentarily on Dana. "Would anyone like to explain it to me?"

#-#-#-#

Something woke Jean from a light doze. She opened her eyes and looked around as best she could, heart pounding. The amphitheater did not appear to have changed and finally she turned her gaze upward, toward the windows that lined the top of the theater. She could not make out anything definitive, but that did not keep her from imagining that she saw shadows lurking behind the white glare of the lights.

A tiny flicker of motion drew her attention downward. She focused on the slim metal pipe that hung above her head. At its tip, a drop of something black and oily was gathering, quivering as it prepared to fall.

Jean flinched involuntarily as the drop struck her on the lip, and then squeezed her eyes closed as a thin stream of the same black liquid followed. It was surprisingly warm on her skin and did not smell of petroleum at all. Instead, she caught a whiff of decay, like the smell of rotting vegetation.

The oil ran across her skin, pooling in the crease between her lips as she pressed them firmly together. It ran down the side of her face and dripped onto her ear. She snorted and almost panicked as the liquid ran into her nose. She could feel it sliding down the back of her throat, tasting of fungus and rotted leaves.

The liquid that had fallen onto her ear began to gather and slide slowly into her ear canal. Jean froze in a burst of terror as she realized that, whatever it was, it was deliberately working its way into her body. She could feel the tickling, itching passage as it moved further into her ears and throat. She wanted to scream at the maddening sensation, but she found that she couldn't. It was as if she could no longer control her body.

Her vision began to cloud with indistinct blobs of darkness that obscured portions of the room around her. And then she felt it. The touch of another mind on hers—fingers of alien thought that sank into her mind, digging and weaving their way deeper and deeper into her thoughts. The most horrible part was that she had no defense. She had no control over her body—no mouth to scream, no hands to fight with—and she had no powers with which to drive the invading presence from her brain. She was completely helpless.

The alien presence settled itself comfortably in her mind, and Jean began to feel its hunger. The presence wanted to devour her—not just her mind, but her body as well. Had she retained any control whatsoever, Jean would have gagged at the images the alien was feeding her. It would use her soft tissues for sustenance while it completed its life cycle, bonding its genetic code to hers and creating a different lifeform from the two. Throughout the process, it would keep her alive, in agony, as it used her body as both host and catalyst for the new creature.

Something was holding it back, however. Jean could feel it fighting the reins of whatever controlled it, and she sent a silent prayer to whoever might listen that those reins wouldn't break.

A moment later she felt the snap, and the alien presence with its encompassing hunger dove into her. At the same time, the world exploded into sharp clarity as Jean's powers returned. She was suddenly aware of Scott, and his startled reaction as he felt her in turn. She could hear the minds of the men that stood above her, watching through the windows. But most of all, she could feel the creature inside her, and the mind that was invading hers.

The violation sparked a terrible anger inside Jean. With a scream that was a mixture of horror, disgust, pain and fury, she turned the full force of her telepathic and telekinetic powers against the thing that was trying to eat her from the inside. She was unaware as her body, still strapped to the metal table, burst into a conflagration of psionic fire.

#-#-#-#

Rogue leapt to her feet in horror as Cyclops began screaming. She pounded her fists ineffectively against the smooth walls.

"Cyclops! What's happenin'? Are ya all right?" Dimly, she could hear some of the other X-Men doing the same, but there was no response from Scott save for his agonized cries.

Shaking in fear, Rogue slid down the wall until she was curled up on the floor with her shoulder pressed against the wall nearest to Cyclops. She felt utterly helpless. With her powers stripped, she had no way to help. Her super strength might have been enough to tear a route out of there, but all she had now was the ordinary strength of a normal woman, and that wasn't enough.

She clapped her hands over her ears after a moment, unable to stand the sounds. _He's dyin',_ she thought in horror. _They're killin' him._ She only remembered flashes from her first time as a captive of these people, but that was more than enough to teach her fear. They had no mercy, no compassion and no consideration for the people that they seemed to see as little more than animals.

For a moment, she wished desperately for a familiar pair of arms to hold her and a voice to whisper reassurances to her. If she was to die here, there was nothing she wanted more than to be able to spend the last moments with Remy, to tell him that she loved him and to feel the warmth of his skin against hers.

_But then he'd die too, an' ah couldn't live with that._ She closed her eyes against tears. _At least he's safe at the mansion. The Professor an' Dana wouldn't let him come out here._ She had a momentary vision of her cell opening magically to reveal Gambit, cocky smile and all, come to rescue her. She couldn't help a pained smile. _It's a good thing, too. Man'd pick every lock on this ship if that's what it took ta find us._

Rogue opened her eyes fearfully as Cyclops fell silent. She felt a terrible sense of anticipation, as if everything in creation had simply stopped for a single stunned moment.

The floor beneath Rogue suddenly lurched and spun, bouncing her back and forth against the walls of her little cell. With a startled cry, she rolled into a ball to protect herself against the worst of the battering. From outside somewhere, she heard a piercing scream. It wasn't a human sound, but more like that of a falcon or eagle. Only it was _loud_. So loud that the sound stabbed into her brain, and she clapped her hands to her ears again in protest.

_We've gotta get out a here,_ she thought dazedly. It was the only clear thought in her mind. The X-Men were helpless in these little cells. Cyclops might already be dead. If they were to have any chance at all, they had to get free and regain their powers.

_But ah don't know how._ The only person she knew who might possibly be able to find a way out of the sealed room was convalescing in a mansion more than ten thousand miles away.

An idea occurred to her then, and she shoved it away in a burst of terror. _No. Nonononono. Ah can't do that._ But the thought returned with renewed force as the bird-scream sounded outside again. The floor bucked beneath Rogue, throwing her into the wall. She cried out in both surprise and pain at the impact, and then tumbled back down to lie gasping on the floor.

"Ah can't," she protested aloud. _It hurts too much._ She squeezed her eyes shut. _But they're all gonna die if ah don't try._

Thoroughly terrified, Rogue turned her thoughts inward. Her powers were gone, but the effects of those powers didn't disappear with them. The many minds she had absorbed over the years, fragments of thought and personality, were all shoved into a dark recess in her mind where they could only rarely manage to bother her. And in that dark corner was the mind of a Master thief, a man who was acknowledged as one of the best on the planet by those who were in a position to know. Unfortunately, that mind also held many dark, painful secrets—things that Rogue had nearly lost her sanity once because of. Now, she went looking for that mind, sifting through the thoughts until she found something she recognized.

Because she'd touched him so deeply, the imprint was very cohesive. She felt Remy's personality surround her and with a last moment's hesitation, she reached out, grabbed hold of the shadow of his mind in hers, and _pulled_.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Logan tensed as a crack appeared in the wall of his cell. It swelled rapidly as the previously invisible door slid aside. He was thoroughly surprised to see Rogue framed in the doorway and oddly enough, she seemed just as surprised to see him. Her gaze flicked across him, taking stock, and Wolverine noted with extreme interest that her eyes were no longer green, but red and black instead. Her nostrils flared in an expression of mild alarm as she noted the condition of his claws, and then she raised her gaze to his.

"Nice work on the door," Logan told her.

She shrugged and stepped aside as he moved out into the corridor with her. "T'anks."

They went to the next door in line beyond Logan's, and Rogue immediately went to work on the small control panel that sat flush against the wall. Logan scanned the corridor, but saw no signs of guards or even monitoring equipment. His nose told him that their powers were probably still suppressed and considering that Rogue was rewiring the lock rather than just ripping the door out of its frame, he had no reason to doubt that conclusion.

"What happened t' y' claws?" Rogue asked him as she worked.

Logan resisted the urge to look down at his hands. His claws were extended and each had been cut off approximately one inch past the knuckle. He knew from experience that they would grow back, but for now they were useless.

"Doesn't matter, darlin'. Just get the door open."

Rogue paused in what she was doing and looked over at him. Her expression quirked wryly. "I don' t'ink I'm y' type, Wolverine."

A number of details clicked together in Logan's mind and his gaze narrowed. He'd already concluded that Rogue must have drawn on the memories she'd absorbed from Gambit in order to escape her cell. Between the eyes and the accent, he could hardly have concluded anything else. Now, however, he was beginning to suspect that that was all that had happened.

"Gambit?"

Rogue's lips curled in a cynical smile. "Oui." The strange eyes lingered on Logan a moment more before returning to the disassembled lock. "So, am I dead o' what?"

It took Logan a moment to absorb the situation, but then he shook his head. "No, yer fine." He watched as the other's elegant fingers poked through the tangle of wires. "Where's Rogue?"

Rogue's lips thinned in an expression Logan couldn't quite identify. "She's here," Gambit said softly.

"Is she o.k.?"

Gambit tossed him a cynical glance. "Non, but if she wants t' take her body back, I suppose she's gon' have t' get over it." On the heels of his statement, the cell door slid open.

Cyclops was standing rigid in the middle of his cell, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Even from the doorway, Logan could see him trembling but whether it was from fear, pain or the pure horror that was reflected on his face, Logan wasn't certain.

Cyclops didn't move as Logan came into the room. "Cyke?" he asked cautiously.

Cyclops' eyes jerked to him, startled, but he immediately took in Logan's presence and that of Rogue and the open door behind her.

"We have to help Jean," he told them urgently. "She's trapped and it's trying to _eat_ her."

Logan didn't bother asking what "it" was as another of the bird screams tore through his mind. The floor beneath them shuddered in response, nearly knocking the trio off their feet. He clamped down hard on a surge of fear and anger at the thought of Jean being hurt. That sound couldn't be anything but the Phoenix, so he knew she was putting up a fierce fight. She would find a way to hold on until the X-Men could get to her.

"Let's get the rest o' the team out an' then we'll go get her."

Cyclops nodded. "Right." Logan could see him collecting himself in stages. Whatever it was he was sensing from Jean had really thrown him.

Gambit was already at work on the next lock by the time Logan and Cyclops stepped out into the narrow hall. Rogue's brows drew together in a frown as he looked up from the tangled wires.

"Would one o' you two like t' fill me in on what's happenin' here?"

Cyclops looked at her blankly. Logan raised an eyebrow. "What's the last thing ya remember?"

The long red hair hid his expression as Gambit turned his attention to the lock. He shrugged. "That crystal wave crashing over me."

Logan was momentarily surprised but then decided that it made sense. "Israel was more than a year ago."

Gambit paused and the door slid open. Beast joined them in the hallway and they moved to the next set of doors. Logan still saw no signs that anyone was aware of their impending escape.

He turned back to Gambit. "As fer this mess we're in now... yer on a spaceship orbiting Earth an' the critters runnin' the ship ain't exactly friendly. Far as I'm concerned, yer welcome ta kill anything that ain't an X-Man."

Gambit arched one eyebrow. "Sounds simple enough."

They continued down the corridor, methodically opening doors and acquainting the newly released with Gambit's unexpected presence. Cyclops regained himself about halfway through and took charge of the team. Though he was pale with fear from whatever he was feeling from Phoenix, Logan didn't find any reason to question his judgment.

The last door was Storm's, and Logan could see the grim set to Gambit's mouth as he set to work on the lock. He had barely pried the cover off when the floor beneath them heaved once more, shuddering unhealthily. Logan's stomach leapt into his throat as if he were on a roller coaster rather than a spaceship.

Gambit dug his fingers into the slight ridge of the doorframe, fighting for balance, and continued working on the lock. The door slid aside like the others and Logan could see Storm curled into a tight fetal knot on the floor, whimpering softly. He ducked inside and scooped her up in his arms. They needed to keep moving. She would have to recover along the way.

Following Cyclops, the X-Men reached the door at the end of the hallway to find it unlocked. Cyclops opened it without comment and stepped out into the area beyond.

"The power suppression ends at the door," he noted as soon as he stepped through, though how he knew that Logan wasn't entirely sure.

"Does anyone else think this is way too easy?" Cannonball asked as he followed Cyclops.

Beast gave him a lopsided grin. "You know what they say, 'Pride goeth before the fall'. Let us just hope that our adversaries have vastly underestimated us."

Gambit stepped through just in front of Logan. The moment he passed the doorway he began to reel, one hand reaching out blindly for purchase. "Whoa."

Beast put out a hand to steady him, and Logan was surprised by the mild panic in the red eyes.

"Oh, dis is bad," Gambit muttered. Rogue's fair face began shading over into green.

"What is it?" Cyclops demanded.

Gambit blinked and took a cautious breath. "I ain' a big fan o' space ships 'cause m' spatial sense tracks de orbit. I c'n _feel_ de planet turnin' round an' round." He made a vague, circulatory gesture with one hand. "Makes me queasy."

"And?" Cyclops asked.

Gambit looked up at him. "An' we ain' orbiting." He blinked once, obviously fighting nausea. "We fallin'."

#-#-#-#

Remy looked up with interest as the door to the little room in which he was being held opened. Cancer Man also turned, though the pistol that was now casually aimed at Remy did not waver. That didn't concern the mutant. In some ways, his limited power was as effective as a full-blown telepath's, and Cancer Man had conveniently forgotten that he lost all of his advantage the moment he gave Remy the slightest room to maneuver.

The man who walked into the room was fairly young, with a predatory leanness that set Remy's internal alarms to ringing. He felt like he was looking into a mirror at a slightly warped version of himself.

"Yes, Alex?" the Cancer Man asked.

"They're ready," the man answered. His gaze flickered across Remy with carefully veiled curiosity.

Cancer Man stood. "Very well." He gestured toward Remy. "Please bring our new friend."

Remy didn't protest as Alex cut the cords that bound him and dragged him to his feet. The other man was also armed, and laid the muzzle of the gun against the back of Remy's neck as they walked. For the most part, Remy ignored him and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

"Where we goin'?" he asked Cancer Man as they stepped out into a long, featureless hallway.

Cancer Man glanced back over his shoulder with a tiny smirk. "There's something I think you'll want to see."

Remy's stomach tightened, but he kept his expression blank. After a short walk, they arrived in a room that he took to be a theater of some kind. Two thirds of the circular room was covered with a single video screen, and as they entered, it came to life.

Remy stopped dead despite the strong arm that pushed him from behind. On the screen, Jean Summers was strapped to a metal table in the middle of an empty room. She was dressed only in a white surgical gown, and in the austere environment, the red of her hair seemed almost unreal.

Cancer Man lit another cigarette. "Ms. Summers is a friend of yours, I believe."

Remy darted a glance in his direction. How did he know Jean's name? But rather than act surprised, he took the offensive. "What are y' gon' do t' her?" he demanded.

Cancer Man returned his gaze calmly for a moment, and Remy felt the slim tendrils of his power being stretched as the other man resisted him. Remy focused his concentration, willing Cancer Man to tell him what he wanted to know. His power gave him only a tenuous control over another mind, but so long as he was trying to make them do something that some part of them already desired, he was usually successful. In that sense, it was more seduction than control. He couldn't force anyone to do something that was completely against their will.

Eventually, Cancer Man turned toward the screen. "Ms. Summers has a truly impressive telepathic talent." He flashed Remy a humorless grin. "A talent that has both my colleagues and our allies somewhat... concerned."

He took another drag on his cigarette as, on the screen, Jean's eyes fluttered and opened. "So we are performing an experiment to see if a talent such as hers poses a threat to our plans."

"Y' plans t' help evolve an alien species by combinin' dere DNA wit' ours, an' den wipin' de human population off de planet so de aliens c'n have it?" Remy kept his attention on the screen, but watched Cancer Man out of the corner of his eye. He was pleased when the other man betrayed a flicker of surprise.

Cancer Man recovered his poise and pursed his lips. "Something like that."

On the screen, Jean was struggling with her bonds, but stopped when a drop of some black liquid splashed down on her face from the tiny spout that hung from the ceiling. A small stream of the liquid followed, and Remy felt a cold shiver trace down his spine as it pooled like mercury and then began crawling across her skin.

"What is dat?" He clamped down hard on his feelings, so the question came out with only a faint trace of interest.

Cancer Man gave him another empty smile. "An alien." Jean's body convulsed on the table, her mouth wide in a soundless scream, as he continued, "An intelligent alien viral agent."

Remy felt a sinking sense of horror, and with it a growing rage. Jean was his friend and more. She was family. And she was being destroyed right before his eyes.

Jean's body burst into flame. Remy flinched away from the explosion of bright light, and when he looked back, he found himself staring at an amazing sight. A creature of flame raged inside the room where Jean was imprisoned. As he watched, it took on the form of a bird whose talons ripped into the walls, exposing bundles of wiring that caught fire and burned beneath its assault. He could only guess that she was destroying whatever power suppression technology was in the room.

Cancer Man turned to him with a startled expression that was lost as the man behind Remy spun him around. Remy ignored the pistol that hovered in front of his face and instead met the burning anger in the eyes behind it.

"What is that thing?" Alex demanded harshly. "What is she doing?"

Remy grinned at him. "Gotta love dem redheads." Gathering his reserves, he reached up and broke the man's grip on his collar with a sharp blow, then stepped back. Alex raised his gun, centering on Remy, but Cancer Man held up a hand to prevent him from firing.

Remy ignored Alex as the phoenix form on the screen writhed in apparent agony. Some of its fire ran with a shimmering black substance that clung to it as if it were a tangible thing rather than flame. In some places, Remy could see the black oil burning away in a trail of dark gray smoke, but in other places it seemed to be gaining ground and spreading. Whatever it was, Remy knew Jean was fighting it with every ounce of strength she possessed.

The Phoenix shuddered as a new streak of black spread across it, and with a silent scream, it stretched outward until its wings pierced the walls of the cell, setting fire to everything it touched. The restraints that held Jean down also burned away and she rose from the table in a crackling ball of telekinetic energy. Her hair fanned out around her, alive in the energy storm, and her green eyes nearly glowed with indignant fury.

Remy found himself chuckling from the sheer pleasure of watching her. Jean was a sight to behold whenever something pushed her hard enough to crack the gentleness that she normally wore like a shield around her soul.

The Phoenix stabbed outward again with its wings, tearing large chunks out of the walls and ceiling. The newest incursions of black on its form disappeared in a burst of flame, leaving nothing behind but a puff of oily gray smoke. Wisps of fog formed in the room then were sucked out through the holes Jean had torn, and Remy realized with a start that he could see the black of space through the tear. The wisps of fog were escaping atmosphere condensing as the temperature dropped. The X-Men must have been captured during their mission, he decided, and he sent his teammates a silent wish for luck.

A moment later the image blinked out and was replaced by snow, and Remy guessed that Jean had destroyed the transmission equipment. He turned slowly to find both Cancer Man and Alex staring at the now empty screens, their expressions more thoughtful than he expected. The two traded glances that gave Remy little insight. The only thing he was certain of was that Jean's behavior had seriously altered some basic principle in their minds and they were both scrambling to adjust.

Alex was the first to remember that Remy was there. He turned away from the screen and raised his gun to the level of Remy's face. Over the barrel, his eyes were a wild storm of emotions that twisted his expression into a fierce scowl.

"Is she the only one?" he demanded.

Remy watched him warily but didn't answer. That was a very dangerous question. If Cancer Man didn't know about the alternate universes, it was almost certain that this man didn't.

Alex voiced a snarl that seemed for all the world to be of frustration, and his finger tightened on the trigger as he advanced on Remy. "Is she the only one?" he demanded again, voice rising.

Remy took a step back to keep some distance between himself and the other man. As he moved, he tried to draw on the power that linked him to Cancer Man. There was something puzzling about his reactions, something that hinted at yet another layer of hidden motivations...

Almost entirely on instinct, Remy shook his head. "Non. Dere more."

Alex stopped dead, his eyes over the barrel of his gun never losing their focus, but his mind obviously shifting through distant thoughts. After a moment, he lowered the gun and turned toward Cancer Man.

Cancer Man had regained his composure and was in the midst of lighting a new cigarette. He regarded both Alex and Remy cooly. "This presents us with an interesting quandry." He waved his cigarette toward the silent, snow-filled screens. "Your telepathic friends are certainly in a great deal of danger now. The aliens no doubt raked their names and locations from your brain while they had you."

Remy's insides froze. "What do y' mean?"

Cancer Man gave him another of his dead smiles. "Our alien allies have very minimal telepathic abilities. However, with the application of sufficient levels of pain to weaken the mind's normal defenses, they can extract whatever they please."

A flash of memory overwhelmed Remy. Hot agony in his body warred with the more horrible sensation of something like claws scraping across the surface of his mind. It was worse than Psylocke's knife, worse than the feeling of Magneto controlling the iron in his blood.

Remy opened his eyes with a gasp as reality snapped back into place. Strong hands gripped him, holding him up, and he realized that it was Alex. He looked over at the young man and was surprised to see a hint of sympathy in the flat gaze, which was almost immediately hidden. It made him wonder what kinds of pain Alex might have endured in his time. It was obvious he was no stranger to it.

Before Remy could think of something to say, a yellow light above the door began to flash. Both Cancer Man and Alex tensed and Cancer Man nodded toward the control panel for the screens.

"See who that is."

Alex released Remy, who staggered, but managed not to fall. What little reserve he had managed to accumulate had been exhausted by that one moment's memory. Now, he felt like he could barely keep his feet.

One of the large screens came to life, showing a featureless hallway that looked very much like the one Remy had walked through to get to this room. Without any distinguishing features, there was no way to be certain, but Remy wasn't concerned about that. He was far more concerned with what was walking down that hallway. There were four men in standard kevlar armor and carrying automatic rifles. But behind them was a... thing. Remy wasn't quite certain how to describe it. Humanoid, but looking like it was made up of some unholy combination of Elmer's glue and crude oil, the seven-foot creature shambled after the men. Its fingers were tipped with long black claws that looked like they were made for tearing. Watching its movements, Remy got the distinct impression that it was a creature of speed, and that the slow walk it was being forced to was very difficult for it.

Cancer Man and Alex traded veiled looks. "It looks like they've come for you," Cancer Man remarked as he turned to Remy.

Alex's head snapped up. "We've got to get him out of here," Alex told Cancer Man urgently. "If he's going to have any chance of warning--"

"Krycek!" Cancer Man cut him off angrily. It was only the second time that Remy could remember the man raising his voice, and it made him wonder. There was definitely another layer here that he didn't completely understand. It seemed, though, that Cancer Man had an interest in protecting mutants from the Racth'zai, though Remy couldn't yet fathom his motives. All of that would have to wait, however. The first priority was going to be to get out of there alive.

"Dey gon' be comin' t'rough de door, non?" he asked Alex.

Alex nodded tightly and Remy summoned a faint grin. "Den we leave a different way." He held out his hand toward Alex. "Y' got somet'ing metal on y'? A lighter, pocket change? Anyt'ing?"

Alex glanced uncertainly toward Cancer Man, who looked at the screen and the approaching men and then nodded. Alex fished through his pockets for a moment, and then with some hesitation withdrew a spare clip for his pistol. "How's this?"

"Good enough." Remy took the clip and began charging it. Both Cancer Man and Alex watched the process in fascination.

"Which way?" Remy asked Cancer Man when the clip was glowing with lurid pink light. He didn't want to think about how much it hurt just to charge up this one little object. He was going to be in serious trouble if he got into any kind of real firefight.

Cancer Man looked thoughtful for a bare moment, then shrugged. "Down would be best."

Remy nodded. "Cover up," he advised them, and threw the glowing object at the floor.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 

"You're not going to find anything," Dana stated in quiet frustration.

Colonel Fury glanced up at her over the top of her FBI identification, which he currently held in one hand as he studied it. A computer screen to his left continued to flash through picture identity files, searching for her record.

"Because you're a federal agent only in another dimension?" His tone was studiously neutral.

"Yes." Dana sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. When she had the opportunity, she was going to tell Shadowcat her opinion of Fury's _reasonableness_.

"So why should I believe that this is real at all?" he waved the I.D. at her.

"Herr Fury," Nightcrawler broke in, his anger invisible save for the tail that lashed back and forth beneath his chair. "Both Professor Xavier and Phoenix have vouched for her. She is what she says."

Fury's gaze moved to the small, blue-furred man. "And I should believe them?" He leaned forward in his seat, his expression suddenly intense. "You sit here, telling me about a pending invasion of Earth to be staged from ships that no one can see and whose existence has been disavowed by the President of the United States and his counterparts in every NATO country around the world." He tossed Dana's badge down on the table. "Give me one reason why I should believe you."

Dana stared at the Colonel with a growing sense of desperation. Though she didn't believe he would kill them, she _was_ convinced that he would turn them over to his superiors if they couldn't prove their case, and that probably meant they would in turn be given over to the shadow government that supported the Racth'zai. Unfortunately, she had no idea what kind of place S.H.I.E.L.D. held in this world's political structure. They obviously had extremely advanced technology, from the Helicarrier to their cloned decoys...

Dana paused, startled by the pieces of information that collided in her brain. Her heart lurched at the picture that appeared from the mix and she had to take a steadying breath before she spoke.

"Colonel Fury."

His gaze snapped to hers and Dana forced herself to speak with as much certainty as she could muster. Fury could not know that what she said was built on a rather flimsy collection of data.

"About a week ago, S.H.I.E.L.D. was sent to a remote area in Russia, to the site of a crashed spaceship. You were instructed to retrieve the pilot of that ship and leave a decoy copy at the crash site."

Fury raised an eyebrow at her flat pronouncement, his expression neutral, but Dana was certain she saw recognition in his eyes. That tiny confirmation was enough to set her heart to racing, and in her lap her hands squeezed into fists as she fought to keep her composure. This man had seen Mulder. He knew if he'd survived the crash. He might know where he was.

She took a deep breath. "The man you found is my partner. His name is Fox Mulder."

Time passed with agonizing slowness as Fury stared at her. Finally, he drummed his fingers sharply on the table and stood up. "Stay here. I'll be back." His gaze swept the gathered members of Excalibur and Dana before he turned and strode quickly from the room. The two guards at the door moved aside to let him pass and then returned to their positions blocking the door.

After he was gone, Dana let out a shaky sigh and tried to take control of the exultation that was trying to break free inside her. She still didn't know for sure that Mulder was alive. All she could do was wait... and hope.

#-#-#-#

The echoing shriek of the thing that followed them sent chills up Remy's spine. It was definitely gaining ground. Beside him, Krycek turned to fire down the dark passageway, the bullets striking sparks where they ricocheted from the cast iron plumbing that lined the maintenance tunnel. With both Krycek and Cancer Man providing ammunition, Remy had taken them straight down four floors into the sub-structure of the building, and from there Cancer Man had led them through a torturous maze of basements and maintenance accesses. Now, they ran through an old steam tunnel that Remy guessed hadn't been used in nearly a quarter-century. Luminous mosses grew in patches on the walls, their feeble light the only guidance the trio had. Remy tried not to wonder what kind of slime coated the floor of the tunnel and grew in the pools of frigid water that had collected in the low places. He was barefoot and still dressed in the hospital scrubs he'd been wearing at the mansion. His feet had long since gone numb from the underground chill coming through the cement, providing yet one more challenge to his already over-extended reserves.

He stumbled over a crack in the floor and Krycek caught him, one arm wrapping around his waist to keep him from collapsing.

"Keep moving!" Krycek snarled, dragging him forward.

Overbalanced, Remy fell to his knees. His vision whited out for a moment, then reasserted itself as he struggled to draw air into his lungs. The sharp edges of his broken ribs dug into him, making each breath agonizing.

"Can'," he gasped, resisting Krycek's frantic attempts to draw him to his feet. "Got' kill dat t'ing... can'... go... any further."

Krycek shook his head vehemently. "No, it's too fast. We have to lose it."

Remy didn't try to find the breath to answer with. He just reached out and snatched the gun from Krycek's fingers, his motion so fast that the other man didn't have a chance to tighten his grip.

With his enhanced night vision, Remy saw Krycek's eyes widen in surprise. "Not... too fast," he managed.

"How--?" Krycek was cut off by another scream from the approaching creature. His head snapped up and then he reached down and dragged Remy to his feet. "It's coming."

In the distance, they could both hear the rapid slap-slap of the creature's feet on the slime-covered cement. The steps began to slow as they grew louder, and both men turned instinctively toward the source of the threat.

Remy straightened painfully, his sensitive eyes straining into the darkness for a glimpse of the creature. "Give me y' knife," he held out his empty hand to Krycek without taking his eyes off the depths of the tunnel. He'd seen the telltale bulge of the sheath back in the video room.

The weight of the hilt settled in his palm a moment later, and Remy closed his fingers around it, testing the balance as Krycek slowly backed away. "You'd better know what you're doing," Krycek said in a hushed voice.

Remy couldn't answer. He could see the creature now, its form a slightly darker shadow against the blackness. His spatial sense tracked its motion as it shuffled slowly forward and Remy had the unpleasant feeling that he was being stalked.

With a slight twist, Remy reversed his grip on the knife and began to charge it. The power tingled painfully in his fingers until he had to grit his teeth to keep from dropping the blade. The lurid glow emanating from it seemed inordinately bright and threw everything in the tunnel into stark relief. Remy found himself staring at the creature from a distance of about twelve feet. It flinched at the sudden light, its large eyes narrowing to slits as it cocked its head to study him. Remy didn't move. He needed more charge to be sure of killing it.

Remy continued to pour power into the knife, acutely aware that he would get only one chance. If he'd misjudged the creature's speed, it would kill him. They remained frozen like that, studying each other, and then without warning the creature snapped into motion.

Remy didn't have time to think as it lunged toward him, its form a blur. Entirely on instinct, he threw the knife he held. His aim held true and he watched with a sense of satisfaction as the blade sunk into its chest with a dull sucking sound. Then the image was gone as the knife exploded in a flash of brilliant light. The force of the blast was funneled toward Remy by the confined space, rolling toward him in an expanding ball of fire. The blast wave slammed into him, throwing him backward like a rag doll. Remy hit the ground and tried to roll, but the pain that lanced through him left him stunned, barely able to breathe. He found himself on the cold floor, his cheek pressed into the slime that filled the pores in the cement. A ways away, he could see the gruesome pile that was all that remained of the creature. Remy felt a stab of pleasure. The explosion must have ripped it in two.

Hands closed on him, pulling him to his feet. Dimly, he recognized Krycek and the Cancer Man. Krycek's face swam before him for a moment, his expression intent as he studied Remy. His mouth moved soundlessly, asking questions Remy couldn't understand through the violent ringing in his ears, and then Krycek disappeared as the darkness that filled the tunnel closed in.

#-#-#-#

Colonel Nick Fury stared at the images on the screen before him, his thoughts tumbling. The surveillance tape had recorded their debriefing of the pilot, and the file that lay open on the desk in front of Fury matched the voices that came through the speaker. The disturbing thing was that the woman Scully knew details of the debriefing that had not been released to anyone beyond the Colonel's direct superiors.

Fury frowned. It argued rather strongly in her favor, and though he could never admit it, the fact that the X-Men vouched for her was also compelling. Unfortunately, if what she and Nightcrawler said was true, then the Earth was about to be invaded and his own government was facilitating the assault.

He ground his teeth, resisting the temptation to slam his palm down on the desk. The question was what to do now. If the government was involved, he couldn't use the normal channels and right now he wasn't certain who outside of those channels he could still trust.

The strident wail of the alarms interrupted his thoughts. Fury hurried to the Helicarrier's bridge, stopping short on the threshold as he spied the image on the main screen. The numbers displayed in the lower right hand corner indicated that the picture was at the system's maximum magnification, but despite the grainy quality, Fury could clearly see the unfamiliar lines of the ship that was plunging through Earth's atmosphere. That wasn't what grabbed his attention, though. The stocky ship was surrounded by a sphere of glowing blue energy, and gripping that in its talons like a large ball was a phoenix.

_Hopefully not_ The _Phoenix_, Fury thought grimly. As he watched, the fiery bird threw its head upward, uttering a scream that didn't reach far enough to be picked up by their sensors. Its wings flexed as if it were straining to slow its descent.

Fury glanced over at the parameters displayed beside the screen and sucked in his breath. The ship was plummeting out of the sky, the digital readout of the altitude changing so rapidly that the right hand numbers were nothing but a blur, but eventually they began to slow.

"Put us on an intercept course," Fury ordered his pilot. "I want to be there when that thing touches down."

"Yes, sir," the pilot responded and Fury felt the deep vibration come up through the soles of his feet that meant that the hover system had gone into forward mode.

They reached the site just as the phoenix deposited its burden on a deserted expanse of ice in northern Canada. The bird threw its head back, uttering another of its fearsome screams before simply... evaporating. Fury blinked in surprise. The energy field around the ship winked out a moment later, leaving a strange stillness in its wake.

"Scan it," he ordered.

One of the bridge officers complied, his brow furrowing as he studied the readings. "Sir, there are life readings on board. Eleven human-- all registering as mutants-- and thirty-one unidentified... make that thirty. Twenty-nine." The officer glanced up at him. "Whoever's in there is killing them off at a pretty good rate."

Fury had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew who it was. "All right. Let's get a welcoming committee together to greet the victors. Tell Captain Reeves to be on his best behavior." He didn't need to alienate the X-Men any further when they had information he needed.

The officer nodded. "Yes, sir."

#-#-#-#

Dana stood just outside the outer door of the downed spaceship, a feeling of reluctance suffusing her. Despite everything she'd seen, there was a part of her that did not want to go inside, did not want to see the proof of everything Mulder had been chasing for the past five years.

"Dana?" Jean was watching her with an expression of concern.

Dana shook her head brusquely. "I'm all right." She was the one who should be concerned about Jean. The other woman's face was marred with exhaustion, and though she remained on her feet beside Dana, it was obvious that the effort to land the falling ship telekinetically had taken its toll on her.

Jean nodded lightly. "We need to get going," she reminded the FBI agent and Dana sighed.

"Right." Without further prompting, Dana forced herself to step into the ship. Jean fell in beside her and they followed the telltale signs of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s investigation toward the site where the X-Men had battled the ship's inhabitants. The ship was abuzz with Fury's people and Dana had to take back at least some of her original impression of the man. Once he'd become convinced that the threat was real, he had acted with a decisiveness that erased any doubt Dana might have held that he was nothing but a government puppet. The X-Men needed to leave now because both the press and the military were on their way, and Dana had been given the impression that neither was known for treating the X-Men kindly.

The reached the first signs of the conflict and Dana stopped in her tracks, startled despite herself. It was one thing to tell herself she was going to look at a bunch of alien corpses. It was quite another to actually see them.

After a moment, she walked over to the nearest of the two bodies. A technician of some kind looked over at her curiously, but did not protest as she knelt to examine it. Even a cursory examination was enough to convince her that this could not be a fake. The internal structure she could see through the massive wound in its chest was undeniably alien to Earth.

Throttling her curiosity, Dana rose. This wasn't the real reason she had come into the ship. She went on with Jean trailing behind her. They moved deeper into the ship until they found Colonel Fury.

He looked up at their arrival, his expression shading toward wariness. Dana found herself unconsciously steeling herself for an argument as she walked up to him.

"Colonel Fury."

He nodded in acknowledgement. "Agent Scully."

When he offered nothing further, Dana ground her teeth in silent frustration and forced herself to speak. "I need to ask you a question."

Fury raised the eyebrow over his good eye. "If it's about your partner, the answer's yes. We picked him up." His tone was clipped and brusque.

Dana forgot to breathe as she stared at him. "Is he alive?"

Fury frowned thoughtfully. "He was at the time. I turned him over to my superiors." He made a tiny gesture that might have been an apology. "I can't tell you any more than that."

Dana didn't notice. The pure relief that swept through her left her knees weak and her heart racing. Mulder was alive! Despite the identification she herself had made, despite the funeral and cold ache that had haunted her since then, Mulder was alive. Dana felt as if the world had suddenly snapped into focus. She was filled with a sense of... energy, of renewed belief that the struggle was worthwhile...

"Dana."

Dana blinked and came back to herself. Jean had one hand under her elbow, supporting her as she reeled under the emotional flood. "We need to go."

Dana nodded briefly to Colonel Fury and allowed Jean to lead her out of the ship. The cold air sweeping across the Canadian ice was like a slap in the face and Dana took a deep breath, savoring it. She had no idea where she would go from here or how she would find Mulder, but she did not doubt that she _would_ find him. Relentless pursuit of a dream was something that Mulder had taught her, and she was surprised to realize how well she'd learned.

Smiling softly, she walked toward the Blackbird.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Remy woke as the bed beneath him lurched violently and began to vibrate. Alarmed, he opened his eyes to find himself in a small room with a curved ceiling. Everything was done in a subdued pattern of gray and white that, while threatening, didn't quite scream "hospital" at him. It wasn't until he noticed the small oval windows in the walls and the ground rushing by outside that he realized he was on an airplane that had just touched down.

Memory failed him for a minute, but eventually the pieces began to come back and he wondered how he had gone from the slime filled tunnel he remembered to a private jet. He discovered that the torn and dirty scrubs he'd been wearing ever since being dragged to this world were gone, replaced by new. Their color was a truly awful shade of eggplant.

The roar of the decelerating aircraft began to fade as Remy cautiously sat up. He was indeed in something that resembled a hospital bed. An I.V. was attached to his arm and a squat monitoring machine sat beside the bed, beeping to itself. Restraints hung from each corner of the bed frame, but Remy's hands and feet were left free.

_Interestin'._ Remy was about to try swinging his legs over the side of the bed when the single door to the room opened and Krycek walked in. He carried a pile of clothing that he dumped unceremoniously on the foot of the bed.

"Get dressed. You think you can stand?"

"I was jus' fixin' t' find out." Remy put his feet over the edge of the bed and cautiously shifted his weight. Fresh bandages tightened across his abdomen. "Where are we?"

Krycek glanced toward the sliver of taxiway that was now rolling past at a sedate pace. "Heathrow."

Remy kept the obvious question to himself. He was certain he'd find out what they were doing in London soon enough.

"How long 've I been out?" he asked as he rose shakily to his feet, grimacing at the flash of pain. The good news, he thought, was that it didn't feel like anyone had tried feeding him any painkillers. _Probably woulda blown us all out o' de sky. Good t'ing dese folks ain' big on sympathy._

Krycek shrugged, his face expressionless. "About twenty-four hours."

Remy studied him with interest. The hard aura of mistrust that normally surrounded the other man had dimmed. If nothing else, Krycek seemed to have accepted him as an ally. On instinct, Remy held out his hand. "Remy LeBeau." His name didn't mean anything on this world anyway.

Krycek raised one eyebrow in skeptical surprise, but then accepted the handshake. "Alex Krycek." He frowned. "I thought your name was Gambit."

Remy grinned. "Nah. Dat's m' codename."

Alex's expression said he didn't believe Remy for a second. Remy grinned blandly at him, daring him to comment, but he was disappointed. Gingerly, he reached over and picked up the shirt Alex had brought him. It was a plain black t-shirt, obviously new. So were the jeans and boots, and the socks and underwear were still in their packaging. He glanced over at the other man, taking note of his dress. It was obvious who had done the shopping, and Remy was silently grateful.

"T'anks." He indicated his current attire. "Purple ain' my color."

Alex gave him an odd look as if wondering why he cared. Remy just shook his head, and after a moment Alex turned to leave.

Remy felt a whole lot more human once he was dressed and had pulled the I.V. from his arm. The airplane had come to a stop and now he could hear the distant rumbling clanks that indicated that the cargo area was being opened.

Not entirely steady, Remy opened the door and walked out into the body of the business jet. Both Cancer Man and Krycek looked up as he entered. A quick check confirmed what Remy already guessed-- his connection to Cancer Man had snapped while he was unconscious. He would have to start from scratch if he wanted to influence the man.

Cancer Man stared at Remy with his dead eyes. "Let's go."

"Where?" Remy wanted to know.

A brief expression of annoyance crossed Cancer Man's features, then disappeared. "I called a meeting." Another expression flickered across his face, one that Remy couldn't identify. "If what you have told us is true, then I believe an... exchange of information is in order." He turned toward the nose of the aircraft. "But the decision must be made by all."

Mulling that, Remy followed him. Alex fell in behind and the three trouped out of the jet and into a waiting car. Remy was a little surprised when Alex took the wheel, but then decided that he shouldn't be. Krycek struck him as the type that would do anything that needed to be done.

The trip passed in silence. Remy stared out the window, once again surprised by how much this Earth resembled his own. Cancer Man kept a covert eye on him and Remy took perverse pleasure in doing absolutely nothing suspicious. Pure curiosity would have brought him to this "meeting" regardless of anything Cancer Man said or did, and he didn't have the energy to mess with the man too much.

They arrived at an elegant London address and went in. Remy took note of the security, letting his mind play with the information as if he were on his first walkthrough of a building he intended to break into. What he saw was impressive, and made him uncomfortably aware of the fact that, in his present condition, getting out on his own would be a challenge.

They went upstairs to a large, smoke-filled parlor. Inside, a group of men sat or stood in an informal group that reminded Remy of nothing so much as an old-school gentlemen's club. And though the men looked like bankers, each had the unmistakable cold aura that surrounded Cancer Man. These men, Remy knew instinctively, used lives the way the bankers they resembled used money. His warning senses began to prickle as the conversation in the room died and all eyes focused on him.

He turned to Krycek. "Wish y'd bought me a pack of cigarettes while y' were out."

Krycek gave him an odd, distracted look. "Didn't think of it." His stance and covert surveillance of the room told Remy that he was a minor player compared to these others, and that he was well aware that these men held the power to kill him with a word.

Remy had no intention of giving anyone that impression. He let his gaze roam slowly, meeting each man's eyes for a moment before moving on. They couldn't help but notice his red-and-black eyes, and he enjoyed the stir of uncertainty he left in his wake. Last was a heavyset man with white hair that Remy took to be the unspoken leader of the group.

The man's reaction was hardly more than a flicker before he turned to look at the Cancer Man. "You said you had information to give."

Cancer Man smiled. "And I do." He pulled out a somewhat battered package of Morleys and tapped one out. "I have an explanation for how Mrs. Summers was able to destroy the alien virus."

That gained him the instant attention of every person in the room, which Remy found interesting. There was a hunger to their gazes, almost a desperation that seemed out of place in a room full of men who played God over the whole world.

Cancer Man smirked at the attention while the heavyset man eyed him doubtfully. "And this explains why you abducted this one from the research facility?" He nodded in Remy's direction, his expression disdainful.

"Yes."

The heavyset man pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Go on."

Cancer Man lit his cigarette and puffed on it a moment before complying. "Mrs. Summers is a telepath of unprecedented ability. She is beyond anything we have seen before, and is, in fact, beyond what our projections say is even possible." He paused while eyebrows rose around the room. "In addition, I believe Mrs. Summers is also a telekinetic."

Heads nodded. They had apparently come to similar conclusions themselves. "We've seen the tapes," the heavyset man said. "Do you have something new to add?"

Cancer Man paused dramatically. "She isn't the only one."

His statement was met with carefully veiled shock that slowly gave birth to an electric current of excitement that Remy couldn't begin to interpret. They were obviously interested in telepaths, but he couldn't fathom the reasons. They ought to be threatened, since Jean had proven capable of defeating the Racth'zai but... He paused, studying the men around him more closely. Could they be interested in a weapon _against_ the aliens? But why would they, if they were cooperating with them?

He pushed his puzzled thoughts aside as the collective attention of the room slowly focused on him.

"Mr. LeBeau here is not a telepath," Cancer Man said, waving a hand in Remy's direction. "Though our alien friends reported him to be highly... resistant to their probes until they began using torture to break down his mental shields." Remy tried not to wince at that but Cancer Man's smug expression told him he'd failed.

The heavyset man looked at Remy. "Then you will tell us where we can find these telepaths." It was stated as a command.

Remy smiled thinly. "Non." Anger flashed behind the heavyset man's eyes as Remy added, "But I might be convinced t' act as a go between if y' got a proposition f' dem."

The man's gaze turned calculating. "You're not in much of a position to bargain." Towards the sides of the room, two younger men in suits reached inside their jackets in clear warning.

Remy ignored them. Very casually, he walked over to the small end table that sat beside one of the Victorian loveseats and picked up a decorative silver lighter that had been left there. In his fingers it began to glow, and he was pleased to discover that it no longer hurt to charge a small object. The men watched him with undisguised interest as he showed them the now glowing object, then flipped it toward the door through which he'd entered.

The explosion blew the door off its hinges with a sound like a thunderclap, and ripped away a portion of the frame as well. Plaster dust and smoke boiled out of the doorway. Several of the men jumped out of their chairs, their expressions appalled as they turned to Remy. The two guards had their guns out, both unerringly pointed at Remy's head.

Remy kept his hands open and away from his body as he turned to the heavyset man. He didn't feel like trying to dodge bullets. "I'd say I'm in a pretty good position to bargain," he told him.

#-#-#-#

Scott sighed and shook his head. "They're all still playing dumb."

Jean reached over and pushed a button on the remote, muting the television with its droning coverage of the alien craft that, as far as the world knew, S.H.I.E.L.D. had downed. Scott and Jean, along with the rest of the X-Men, had come to Muir Island to regroup and plan their next move.

"Yes," she agreed. "No one wants to step forward and admit that they knew the Racth'zai were there all along."

Scott frowned. "I wonder if they still believe they can carry on this charade. I can't think of any other reason that the fleet up there hasn't uncloaked."

Jean cocked her head thoughtfully, her gaze distant. "I got the impression from them that they're a..." She paused, searching for the right words. "Fearful race. They do everything by subterfuge, afraid to cause any kind of direct confrontation." She gave her husband a lopsided grin. "For all their power, they're spineless."

He returned her smile. "We can use that to our advantage."

Her expression sharpened. "What are you thinking?"

Scott only shrugged. "Nothing specific. But if all we have to do is present a strong enough front, then Earth stands a real chance of resisting this invasion."

"Very true." The Professor's voice was heralded by the approaching hum of his hoverchair. Scott turned to see him enter the living room, accompanied by Dana Scully. "But without a significant perceived threat, the nations of Earth are unlikely to do so."

Scott was forced to agree with that. "Then maybe we should be considering another mission." He glanced upward to indicate the ships that hung in orbit around Earth. Beside the Professor, Dana's eyes lit with suppressed excitement and he had the sudden feeling that, if they did return to space, she would be going with them.

Professor Xavier steepled his fingers and tapped them against his lips. "Maybe. I am concerned about provoking too harsh a response." His gaze turned inward. "I haven't heard anything from Lilandra yet."

Scott held private doubts as to whether they ever would. Personal feelings aside, Lilandra was an extremely competent general. He wouldn't be surprised if she chose to use Earth as a buffer for her own empire against the invading fleet. Disappointed, maybe, but not surprised.

"There's another reason for going back." As always, Dana's voice was surprisingly soft for the authority it carried. "Two of them, actually."

Scott's stomach tightened. He didn't need to ask what she meant. Her partner was still missing, as was Gambit. Considering how the aliens had treated Gambit before, Scott was very afraid of what might now be happening to the Cajun ex-thief.

He risked a glance in Jean's direction. Through their rapport he could feel the wash of hurt and guilt that accompanied any mention of Gambit these days and saw it reflected in her face. He couldn't deny the fact that her affection for Remy bothered him, though he suspected that it was mostly because Gambit insisted on flirting with her. Serious or not, he found the behavior inappropriate.

Jean threw him a quizzical glance and he abandoned his train of thought. He could worry about making Gambit behave around his wife once the other was safely back with them and in good enough condition for a thorough browbeating. Scott hid a smile at the mental image he conjured and saw Jean's expression lighten minutely.

The Professor ignored the silent exchange. "We don't have any evidence that we'll find either Agent Mulder or Gambit aboard one of the fleet ships," he answered the FBI agent's statement. "They could as easily be here on Earth somewhere, or on your world, Dana, and there is no reason to assume they'll both be in the same place."

Dana crossed her arms, looking strangely appropriate in the multicolored body suit she'd adopted as her uniform. "I know, but we have to start somewhere, and once the fighting starts for real-- assuming it does-- those ships are going to become very risky places to be."

Scott had to admit she had a point. Going back to those ships would be dangerous, but they'd been through worse. The risk was never a consideration when an X-Man's life hung in the balance. Wryly, he reflected that Dana had somehow become one of them, making her partner as much a part of that commitment as Gambit.

He found himself nodding. The X-Men always looked after their own.

#-#-#-#

Alex Krycek, Remy decided, was about as close to a magic key as the Cajun thief was likely to find. Every door they came to opened automatically for the Cancer Man's agent, without suspicion and without questions. As far as Remy could tell, everyone simply assumed that Krycek was going about yet another errand for the shadow government and so ignored him accordingly.

By the time the two men reached the hangar, Remy was chuckling at the ease with which they'd just waltzed themselves up to one of the Racth'zai's ships. Cancer Man's friends hadn't liked turning Remy loose, but he'd read them right. They were desperate. Taking Alex along gave them the false impression that they retained some control over him, which Remy didn't mind. He had his own reasons for wanting Krycek's company -- his magical ability to open doors being one of the lesser ones.

"What's so funny?" Alex demanded as he opened the belly door on the sleek shuttlecraft.

Remy shrugged. "Oh, not'ing. Dis is jus' de easiest B&E I've ever done."

A momentary smile cracked Alex's reserve. "Just wait. It'll get more interesting."

Remy didn't answer as he followed Alex up into the ship. The interior of the shuttle was as cramped as Remy expected, given the size of the race it belonged to. He went forward to the cockpit and did a credible job of wedging himself into the pilot's seat, wincing as the contortions pulled at his stitches. Alex settled in the co-pilot's seat, his expression a mixture of doubt and curiosity.

"So, dey got a user's manual f' dis t'ing?" Remy asked, looking around.

Alex snorted and shook his head, smugly amused. "Getting a ship is easy. Finding someone to fly it is somethin' else." He seemed to be waiting to see just how Remy was going to deal with that minor hitch.

"Can you?" Remy asked. That would be a bonus.

Alex again shook his head. "Sorry. I'm just a passenger."

Remy grinned at him. "Dat's o.k." He studied the darkened panel in front of him. "Well, when in doubt, try de obvious. Computer." He raised his voice slightly to address the ship. It burbled back at him like a snake hissing underwater.

"English, please."

The computer burbled again and Remy waited expectantly. A few minutes later he was rewarded by a cultured male voice.

"English interface running."

Krycek stared at the darkened displays in disbelief, then began to laugh.

Remy ignored him. The Racth'zai had been working with humans for long enough that it seemed likely that they'd have developed an interface and stuck it in an electronic library somewhere. Wriggling deeper into the cramped seat, he instructed the ship to start its power up sequence. He didn't recognize the technology, exactly, but it was close enough to some of the other things he'd seen that he could work with it.

Alex leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, still chuckling. "Don't tell me you know how to fly this thing, too."

Remy shrugged. "We gon' find out, non?"

The alarms inside the hangar began to blare as they lifted off, but Remy figured it was far too late to do anyone any good. They might have some trouble from Racth'zai ships in orbit, but he'd deal with that when it happened. Somewhere up there was a gateway that would take him back to his own universe, back home, and he intended to find it.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20 

When he was thirteen years old, Remy LeBeau stole a fighter from an American air base and flew it for more than an hour before ejecting. Why? Mostly, because his cousin Lapin dared him to. But there was another reason as well.

At thirteen, he'd come into his powers. The kinesthetic awareness that made things like _velocity_ and _acceleration_ as integral to his senses as color and sound had kicked his brain into a kind of frantic overdrive. Nothing in his experience at the time was fast enough to move his body in concert with the pace of his mind, leaving him frustrated, feeling as if his body were a clumsy, sluggish prison from which he could never escape. The jet had seemed like it might just be what he needed to bring body and mind together, and, having made the mistake of mentioning his idea to Lapin, he was left with nothing to do but take his cousin's dare.

_Sixteen years later, an' I'm back flyin' dat jet._ Remy grinned to himself as the tiny spaceship slewed sideways, nearly flipping onto its back before he regained control. Like the spaceship, a fighter aircraft was a fast, unstable machine. Only a few people had the speed of reflexes necessary to pilot one, and those needed years of training to develop their skill. As a boy, Remy had almost killed himself getting off the ground in that fighter, but his mutant powers made him a natural pilot unmatched by almost any other. Even knowing nothing about flying, his kinesthetic power had made it possible for him to adapt to the violently fast reactions of the jet and then to control them, and now he was relearning that lesson on an even more demanding system.

Beside Remy, Alex braced himself against the ship's frame. "I thought you said you could fly this thing."

Remy flashed him a smile. "I'm gettin' it."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Amateur."

Remy chuckled. Krycek didn't look all that distraught. Secretly, Remy suspected he was enjoying himself almost as much as the mutant.

A tiny electronic bell began dinging in the cockpit and Alex looked around in search of its origin. Remy forced himself to pay attention to his flying. The ship had an enormous amount of power and not much in the way of stabilizing surfaces, making it very hard to keep in a straight line while still in the atmosphere. How Mulder had managed to fly one of the things, he would never understand.

"Trouble," Alex told Remy with a frown. "I think we're about to have company." He was looking at a display on his side of the cockpit.

His good cheer evaporating, Remy checked his own display and counted seven blips converging on them. "Computer, weapons status," he instructed the ship.

"Online," it answered him. "Manual targeting mode."

Remy grimaced. "Engage automatic targeting." He didn't want to put any additional strain on his mutant power.

"Engaged."

He spared a glance at the controls in front of him, looking for the firing triggers he knew had to be there somewhere. He found them after a moment and covered them with his thumbs, then had to pour his concentration back into flying as the ship began to roll away from his desired flight path.

"Hold on," he warned Krycek.

Regaining control, he corrected his course then quickly forgot everything else as the approaching ships opened fire on them. Twisting and turning, Remy pushed his powers to their limits, flying the ship entirely by feel as he engaged the alien fighters in return. The dogfight tumbled across the shoulder of the planet, mocking gravity as the brutal acceleration changes completely overwhelmed the Earth's pull. Remy's vision flickered around the edges in a continuous strobe as the g forces overcame his heart's ability to pump his blood through his veins, but didn't slow. Rarely did he find a situation that allowed him to push his kinesthetic power to its limits. Usually, he reached his physical boundaries long before the mental, and he reveled in sensation of losing himself completely to his mutant senses.

"Scratch three," Alex said as a third fighter disintegrated in a silent, spherical explosion. Though the strain showed in his voice, Alex gave no other indication that the acrobatics bothered him. Remy had begun to develop a modicum of respect for the Cancer Man's agent. Krycek was even tougher than he looked.

"T'ree down, four t' go," Remy murmured as he threw the ship into another wild turn. As he did so, he spied a distant, familiar-looking structure dawning over the Earth's horizon and felt a stab of triumph.

"Dere it is!" Breaking off from the other ships, he turned toward the distant construct, a huge ring that seemed to float serenely above the planet. He poured on power, pushing the little ship to its maximum speed. The fighters followed like a swarm of angry bees.

Alex craned his neck to study the structure. "What is it?"

Remy grinned at him. "A dimensional gate." They'd gained some distance on their pursuers, leaving him a little attention to spare.

Alex turned to him, startled and perhaps a little alarmed. "Dimensional?"

Remy found himself enjoying the other's discomfort immensely. "Y' ready f' a trip down de rabbit hole, Krycek?" he asked.

Alex didn't answer, but turned his attention back toward the rapidly swelling gateway. His expression was wary but also curious, and Remy took it as an indicator that the other man had begun putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

The bulky sentry ships guarding the gate fired at them as they approached, but the little ship's speed was such that a bit of maneuvering was enough to keep them from being able to lock on. Jinking around the sentries, they dove straight through the gate, Remy praying silently all the way. He had no idea what he'd do if it dumped them in the wrong dimension. The ship bucked hard as the energies inside the gate spit them out the other side, and Remy had to scramble to keep from losing control of the little ship.

He got it straightened out, then uttered a small exclamation of dismay. In every direction he looked, dozens and dozens of ships formed a blockade around the gate. They lit his navigation display with a sphere of glowing dots. As the two men hurtled forward, the alarms began to sound inside the cockpit indicating that the aliens' weapons were locking onto their ship. Remy felt the first stirrings of fear and he did the only thing he could think of. Closing his eyes, he reached out with what little psi talent he possessed, yelling for Jean at the top of his mental lungs.

#-#-#-#

Rogue walked into the living room at the Muir Island research facility and stopped dead as the two women there turned to look at her. She had the distinct impression she'd been the topic of conversation, and their guilty expressions confirmed it.

Jean stood up from the couch. "Rogue?"

Rogue nodded unsteadily. She'd thought she was ready to face people again, but now she wasn't so sure. For a moment, the black gulf of pain and guilt-- Remy's personal hell-- threatened to suck her down once more. She swallowed convulsively as she fought to keep her attention focused on Jean.

"It's me, sugah," she whispered hoarsely. It had taken her three days to uncurl from her protective mental ball and retake possession of her body. Three days of horror as she lived through the Morlock Massacre from inside the man who'd orchestrated it, and then the struggle to overcome the violently manic, almost suicidal depths of his festering guilt.

_It's him, not me,_ she reminded herself firmly. _It feels like me, but it's not. Ah don't have ta take responsibility foh somethin' ah didn't do._ The reminder helped calm her, and she took a couple of deep breaths to help relax her tensed body.

"Are you... well?" Ororo came to her feet beside Jean, her expression stricken. Rogue could guess what fears lurked in her eyes. Two days earlier the Professor had asked the shadow Remy to relinquish his control of Rogue's body, which he'd done. But after a brief interlude of watching the X-Men trying to contain a woman with Rogue's powers who sobbed and screamed incoherently in a mixture of French and Creole, he'd retaken control, forcing Rogue back down into the quiet dark, and no one had protested.

Rogue couldn't honestly hold it against him. She understood damage control, and appreciated the fact that he hadn't allowed her to accidentally harm any of the people she cared for. But beyond that... She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking comfort. Beyond that, she didn't know what to feel. Every day that passed meant the chances of finding Remy alive grew smaller and smaller, and that fact still threatened to break her heart in two despite how much she felt she ought to hate him for putting her through his pain.

"Ah'm me, 'Ro." Rogue answered, pressing her lips together as she worked to maintain her composure. "But ah think that's about as good as it's gonna get today."

Ororo nodded minutely. She paused then, as if debating whether to ask anything further, but then shook her head. At Rogue's look she seemed to wilt. "I... will not ask what is not my business."

Rogue found her voice. "That's prob'ly a good thing, sugah." Then she shook her head. The fear in Ororo's eyes demanded some kind of explanation.

Her hands fluttered in a gesture of helplessness. "It was a mistake... a stupid mistake made out o' misplaced loyalty." The images rose in her mind, choking her with the remembered horror until she shoved them away. A tear traced its way down her cheek as she forced herself to meet Ororo's eyes. "A lot o' people died... badly."

She shrugged, uncomfortable. "He's nevah gotten over it." She wasn't certain she ever would either, but at least she'd gotten it under control. In time, probably, she'd be able to lock the memories away as Remy had, possibly even dismiss them since they didn't belong to her-- but not today. Today the pain remained fresh and raw.

Anything else she might have said disappeared from her thoughts as Jean's head snapped up, her eyes unfocusing. "Gambit!"

Rogue's heart lurched at the expression of alarm on the other woman's face. "Where, sugah?"

Jean didn't answer and Rogue had no further opportunity to question her as the alarms inside the Muir Island facility began to wail.

#-#-#-#

Remy let out a whoop as the glowing haze of the Earth's atmosphere gave birth to a bird of fire. The phoenix screamed upward into the cordon of ships that surrounded himself and Krycek, crashing through them like so many matchbox toys and scattering the ships across the sky. Remy threw his own craft into a steep dive toward the planet, following the path Jean had carved out for him. Laser fire continued to hammer them, absorbed by their quickly-diminishing shields.

"Is that her?" Alex asked as he craned his head to keep the phoenix in sight. He sounded just a little bit awed, though Remy didn't have the attention to spare to really read him.

"Who? Jean?" Remy flattened out their dive as they approached Earth, but their speed was high enough that the upper atmosphere felt like solid ground as they slammed into it. The little ship shuddered unhealthily, rattling both occupants in their restraints.

"Too fast, Remy!" Alex seemed to forget all about the phoenix as he grabbed his seat harness. "We're going to get ripped apart!"

Remy clung to the controls. "Small problem, homme. No brakes."

Alex turned to stare at him.

Remy shrugged. "Controls're gone. Must've taken a few solid hits back dere."

Alex watched him for a moment more, then seemed to gather himself, pushing his fear away. "You don't look like you expect to die today. How do we get through this?"

Remy grinned. He liked Krycek more with every passing minute. "We wait f' de cavalry t' arrive."

Alex didn't respond as the ship groaned loudly. They were being buffeted so strongly it was hard to tell, but Remy thought he heard something snap. The temperature had begun to rise sharply and the view through the forward screen was obscured by the orange glow of re-entry fire.

_Jean! Not t' be ungrateful o' anyt'ing, but we could still use some help here._ Remy clung to his composure and tried not to listen to the small voice of panic in the back of his mind.

Jean's telepathic contact came almost immediately. _Hold on, Gambit. Rogue is on her way with Nightcrawler. When they're in range, he'll be able to teleport you both out._

_Got it. T'anks._

A moment later, a loud "poof" and the smell of brimstone filled the tiny cockpit. Alex squeaked in surprise at the sight of the blue demon that appeared between himself and Remy, but had no chance to react as Nightcrawler reached over to grab a handful of each man's shirt.

"Hold on, gentlemen." Kurt's face was creased with concentration. Then the world disappeared, leaving Remy adrift in the frightening nothingness of the teleport. There was no sight, no sound, no sensation, no passage of time.

The world returned in a sudden explosion of light and noise. They were falling, Remy realized in a rush of adrenaline. The Earth spread out below him like a wrinkled blanket stained in shades of blue and brown. _Hoo, we're high up,_ was his first coherent thought, and, _I wonder how Alex is doin',_ was his second.

He turned his head against the fearsome force of the wind to find Nightcrawler beside him, one fist still knotted in his shirt, the other wrapped in Alex's. The Cancer Man's agent stared at the distant ground, his eyes rolling in panic. Both of his hands were wrapped around Nightcrawler's slender arm with viselike intensity.

_Bamf._

When the world returned, they were significantly lower, but still falling. Remy could pick out the outline of a major city below them. He took a cautious breath into his burning lungs. There was some air, too.

_Bamf. Bamf. Bamf._

The arrived in the middle of a wide swath of green grass that smelled like it had just been mowed. Remy sank to his knees, then onto his hands, reveling in the feel of the cool blades against his skin. His intestines were the only part of him that weren't incredibly happy to be home and he resisted the urge to simply bury his face in the grass and hug the planet.

Sprawled on the lawn beside him, Krycek began to cackle. "Oh man, what a ride!" He rolled back and forth, holding his stomach and laughing in hysterical relief.

Remy grinned at the other man's antics as he slowly sat back on his heels. A few steps away, Nightcrawler raised an eyebrow.

"T'anks, Crawler."

Kurt smiled. "Don't mention it, mein freund."

Krycek's bout of hysteria ended quickly and he sat up, studying Nightcrawler with interest. "Crawler?" he asked Remy after a moment.

"Alex Krycek, meet Nightcrawler." Remy waved in their general directions. "Crawler, dis is Alex."

Always polite, Kurt nodded and extended one blue furred hand. "A pleasure."

Hesitantly, Alex accepted the handshake. "Yeah." He paused. "Uh, what are you?"

Shadows gathered in Kurt's eyes, and Remy stepped in quickly. "He's as human as you are, Alex, o' me."

Krycek eyed him doubtfully, but didn't protest. The conversation was interrupted as Rogue settled to the ground a few feet away. Krycek stared. At first, Remy thought it was just surprise, but then he realized there was recognition in the other man's gaze and a flash of pure fury swept through him. There was only one way Krycek could know Rogue.

"I swear, if y' had anyt'ing t' do wit' hurtin' her, all bets 're off."

Krycek's head snapped around at the cold, menacing words. He and Remy stared at each other for a long moment as the thoughts shifted behind Alex's eyes.

Krycek threw up his hands. "I just delivered the goods, o.k.?" He was looking between Remy and Kurt as if trying to gauge which direction the attack was most likely to come from. "That's all." He took a step back.

Remy was torn between conflicting impulses. The horror and anger he'd felt at seeing Rogue strapped to that examining table like one of Sinister's experiments warred with the knowledge that they needed Krycek... and the realization that he kind of liked the man.

"Did y' know what they were gon' do t' her?" Remy demanded. Maybe he was more innocent than he seemed.

Alex took another cautious step back. "Not... exactly."

Remy's hands closed into involuntary fists at that acknowledgement. But he would never know if he would have attacked the other man because Rogue's warning words stopped him in his tracks.

"Don't be a hypocrite, sugah."

Remy turned to stare at her as the bottom dropped out of his world. Her emerald eyes were bruised with knowledge, wounded by memories. Things Remy had tried long and hard to forget flashed behind his eyes, searing him anew with the pain and guilt of the lives he'd helped Sinister destroy, and the sure knowledge that Rogue had seen it all. In a single moment, his life seemed to shatter. His knees buckled and he sank to the grass, gasping for air.

The next thing he knew, Rogue was on the ground with him, her arms wrapped around his chest and her face buried against his shoulder. "It's all right," she whispered over and over again, her voice cracking. "It was a long time ago. It's ovah."

Remy hugged her back, too stunned to do anything else. It didn't matter that the embrace made his broken ribs scream. She was there. She knew everything, and she hadn't flown off in disgust, or worse, passed judgment and killed him on the spot.

"Hey, I didn't know she was your girlfriend." Krycek's voice reached Remy as if from a long ways away.

The bewildered protest broke the spell. Rogue slowly withdrew, giving him a strained, lopsided smile through the tears that tracked silently down her face. "Am ah?"

Remy caught her face in his hands, careful to make sure the heavy fall of her hair protected his skin and stared deep into her eyes. "I t'ought y' would hate me," he admitted.

Her smile died. "Ah didn't know _what_ ah was gonna do... until ah got here." She shrugged. "Ah got no right ta judge."

Remy dragged her into another hug, dizzy with relief.

"I hate to interrupt the reunion and all, but we've got incoming." Remy and Rogue both turned to look at Krycek who pointed, drawing their attention skyward. Two airplanes were descending toward them on pillars of jet exhaust. The roar was like a distant, never-ending rumble of thunder.

"Excaliber," Kurt informed Alex.

"An' the X-Men," Rogue added.

Remy grinned as Rogue helped him to his feet. "Friends," he translated for Krycek, who nodded in acknowledgement and continued to watch the aircraft. Keeping one arm around Rogue's waist, Remy, too, watched with a growing sense of impending doom.

"Did y' tell dem?" he finally asked Rogue as the Blackbird settled to the ground.

"No, sugah." She glanced up into his face, her expression neutral. "Ya gonna have ta do that yo'self." After a moment, she looked away, her gaze distant. "But they've got a pretty good idea o' how bad it is."

Nervous, Remy waited while the two mutant teams disembarked. He spotted Dana Scully in their midst, but was too preoccupied with the X-Men themselves to notice her beyond that. For that reason, he was taken completely unawares when she leapt forward, rifle held ready.

"_You!_" She trained the weapon on Krycek, her green eyes filled with fury. "What are you doing here?"

Krycek spread his hands and stared at her. "Agent Scully?" He looked a little lost, like a man who'd had entirely too many surprises for one day. Then the brief vulnerability disappeared behind a smooth, smug mask. "My, what big guns you have."

Dana's eyes narrowed dangerously as her finger tightened on the trigger.

Carefully, Remy placed one hand on the rifle, though he didn't try to take it from the glowering federal agent. "Easy, petite. He's helpin' us at de moment."

Dana's gaze never left Krycek. "He killed my sister," she hissed.

Several of the gathered mutants registered surprise as Psylocke stepped forward. "True." Krycek's gaze snapped to her and she gave him a humorless smile. "Though by accident. You were the target, Agent Scully."

Dana's enraged expression didn't change and Psylock cocked her head, studying the tableau. "If it makes any difference to you, he regrets it." She smiled a feline smile that said she knew just how uncomfortable she'd made Krycek with her statement. "Professionals don't like collateral damage, and men in general tend to feel bad about killing innocent women."

With a last, sultry glance at Alex, Psylocke turned on her heel and walked away. Dana watched her go, wide-eyed, and did not resist as Remy gently pushed the nose of her rifle down, out of line with her target.

Standing a short ways behind Dana, Scott crossed his arms in a clear demand for explanation. "Gambit?"

Gathering himself, Remy turned to the senior X-Man. He shrugged with a nonchalance he didn't feel. "De shadow government on de ot'er Earth wants t' deal."

Scott stared impassively at him. "What kind of deal?"

"Information on the aliens in exchange for your help destroying them," Alex supplied. His demeanor had become pure business.

Dana watched him narrowly. "Since when is the Cancer Man interested in destroying the aliens?"

"That's always been the goal, Agent Scully." His voice was cool and slightly mocking.

Her lips thinned. "He's lying. Don't believe him, Cyclops."

Remy tried to catch her gaze. "Phoenix can tell us f' sure, non?" Though Jean wasn't with the X-Men gathered around him. He turned to Scott, suddenly worried. "She all right?" It hadn't occurred to him that something might have happened to her.

Scott nodded. "She knocked herself cold with that little stunt she pulled, but she'll be fine." He uncrossed his arms. "Let's get back to Muir. The Professor will want to talk to both of you." He split his gaze between Remy and Alex.

Not entirely reassured, Remy nodded. He didn't really have much choice.

"Gambit." For a moment, Scott met Remy's gaze and his flat mask softened. "Welcome home, by the way."


End file.
